


No Simple Explanation

by lori (zakhad), zakhad



Series: Canon Flirtations [3]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-09 16:21:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 81,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8899123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/lori, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/zakhad
Summary: A series of episode codas that go places that the show's writers couldn't, or wouldn't, or were merely incapable of, going. This became a story where right and wrong are not the real issue, but perspectives and opinions. A parallel universe in the greater multi-verse of possibilities for what might have been, if the show's writers had focused their efforts on taking into consideration how people actually work most of the time, how bureaucracies and governments actually work most of the time, how things would actually play out instead of the five-minute fix at the end of the episode. And how people grow and change over time. There are always those who cling to what they know, fear what they don't, and then there are plenty of others who move through life by following their hearts no matter what.





	1. The Icarus Factor

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, the muse has multiple WIPs with saved chapter drafts scattered thither and yon, and she skips town with a two-bit hooker of a plot bunny on a whim. 
> 
> Sigh. It could be worse -- I could go back to feeling uninspired and stuck, instead of being distracted and still writing something.
> 
> I'm not going to claim to have the One True Version to end all debates on what is in character, or in keeping with canon. I prefer exploring possibilities to pretending there is only one way to do something. I'm with Rudyard Kipling: "There are nine and sixty ways of constructing tribal lays, / And every single one of them is right." Integrity within the story, that's the golden ticket I'm seeking. Since these are intended to hook up to specific episodes I'm attempting to add extra layers to what's already there. I watched episodes before starting, and there are transcripts to read, and I often pulled dialogue straight from them. Things that are rewritten or re-storied were done so to serve the story at hand, not out of an impulse to play God.
> 
> Chapter titles will be the names of the episodes each is directly related to. As with most episode codas, the chapters make more sense in context -- you can read transcripts for all the series (and the movies, and other shows) at chakoteya.net if you don't have time to rewatch episodes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I adore simple pleasures. They are the last refuge of the complex. 
> 
> Oscar Wilde

"As usual, you have a different take on it than I do," Deanna said.

Jean-Luc raised an eyebrow at her. It was, at this point, a comic gesture -- she had commented long ago that he had the gesture so ingrained in him that he must certainly be a Vulcan child, stolen at birth and transferred into a human body. She smiled faintly in appreciation but the topic at hand was clearly serious enough to her that it didn't bring the musical laughter he'd hoped to elicit.

"You disagree that the estimable Mr. Riker should have taken the promotion?"

Deanna's smile turned up a notch, from faint to vaguely-amused. "Not exactly that. I think that he should have talked to you more about it. Developed a better understanding of why he wanted to stay."

Jean-Luc glanced up at her as he poured himself another cup of tea, settled back in his chair, raised the china cup to his lips to let the aroma reach his nose and test the temperature with an exploratory sip -- a little on the hot side, it would be perfect in a few seconds. 

"I'm no counselor, you know," he said, not for the first time. During their conversations she would at times suggest that he was some sort of paternal figure.

"You were in the best position to give him what he needed. He wasn't going to get it from his father, after all." There was a very, very slight shift in the set of her mouth that suggested she did not like the elder Riker. 

"I'm no father, either. Nor would I want to be."

Deanna's expression shifted, to that affectionate glow that he found unsettling at times. As usual, his internal shift of emotion resulted in tamping it down a few notches. Her shoulders rose slightly and her hands shifted in her lap, lying one atop the other. "What you are is beside the point. Will's relationship with you is rewarding for him, on a level he's not entirely conscious of -- he's not just viewing you as the captain he's working for at the moment. You are something he's never had."

"Oh, please," he exclaimed, dismissive and incredulous, waving it away just before picking up his tea again.

"How he perceives you doesn't depend upon your active participation in his impression of you. He sees you as many of your officers do."

"Many?" Frowning, he became introspective, trying to sort through the recent interactions with some of his officers for clues. He blinked, refocused on her, and the frown deepened. "You?"

She sighed, casting her eyes downward and he suspected that she was embarrassed, though it was difficult to tell sometimes whether it was frustration. In this case, he had her tone to go by. "No, not me," she said softly. "Worf, definitely. Data does not feel, per se, but sees you as a mentor -- he explicitly said as much, before. Yar had a great deal of affection for you. Not that she would ever express it."

"Will is a good officer. He doesn't waste my time with oversentimentality, stays on point, takes care of the things I ask him to handle, and there's been nothing that led me to believe he has any strong feeling about me. Are you suggesting that he is staying aboard because he wants to be close to me? Because I would have thought -- absent any evidence to the contrary -- that you would be more likely to be the strong emotional attachment that stood a chance at being enough to keep him here."

She swayed backward slightly, returning to centered and upright. She never leaned back when she sat on his couch, never slumped when she was being the counselor. This was, as much as it was off hours and not about him specifically, that -- it wasn't explicitly even counseling, in the sense of seeing a therapist for self improvement. He'd run into her one evening in the corridor, invited her in for tea when the conversation became more than the casual greeting of two officers passing in the hall, and so began the long tradition of discussing, off the record, off hours, his post-mission impressions. It was more helpful than the personal logs for him, to have an external point of view, an intelligent person who had been there more often than not to witness the events as they played out to share her own observations. 

To his surprise, Deanna scowled and looked away, at the viewports on her right -- staring out at the streaks of light that told them they were still traveling at warp. 

"You've always appeared to be close friends," he said quietly, taken aback. "I'm sorry if I misspoke in any -- "

"Will hasn't told you about being stationed on Betazed," she said, interrupting. "He hasn't told you that we were engaged to be married, while I was still a doctoral student, and he was a lieutenant." Deanna raised her head and gazed at him through her dark, thick eyelashes, a disdainful curl in her upper lip. "Of course he wouldn't. He would never waste your time with irrelevant personal information. Especially if it reflected badly on him, somehow. He values your opinion of him very much, because your positive regard is feeding him something he very much lacks in his life."

"What...." It was one of those conversations where he suspected that he would have been at less of a disadvantage if he had a degree in psychology as well.

"It's nothing," she said at once, looking at the floor. Some of her long curly hair slid over her shoulder to hang free like curtains around her face.

"If it were nothing, you would not be upset."

"Nothing you want to talk about."

"What could I possibly be giving him that I'm not aware -- "

"Everyone has deficits in their lives. Everyone has something that their parents did not give them -- unconditional love, approval, there are a handful of oh-so-common things we end up spending our lives searching for."

Jean-Luc smirked, at that. "I can guess at my own, thanks to you."

"Your father never competed with you for anything. Your father never cheated at sports, to keep winning when you got older and stronger, and he never failed to be authentic with you. For better or for worse, even though you suffered through the brunt of his anger, your father gave you emotional feedback that helped you be independent of him. He didn't force you or make choices for you. He merely argued with you."

He took a moment to think about that. Also to be impressed at how she gave him clues without giving him specific information about Will. Then he became concerned, that she might be doing this with Will -- talking to him this way.

"No," she said very softly, "I don't talk about you like this. I don't talk to the other senior officers in any professional capacity, either."

"You're telling me that Will is emotionally dependent," he said, veering away from the other for now. "On me."

"Humans are all emotionally dependent on each other. Whether you like it or not. Social ties drive your society. They've driven the Federation."

"But that isn't what you're saying. You're comparing my father's deficits to those of his father, to point out perhaps that my needs are different, and so because I have things that he lacked, Will finds that on some emotional level I am somehow compatible."

Deanna's mouth twitched, not staying in the smile. "Something like that."

"I can't see that he's dependent -- "

"Will is as dependent as any human upon the approval of others. He doesn't want to be, doesn't want anyone to know that he is to the point that he denies it even to himself. Because any officer with aspirations to command is perhaps more invested than many in believing that they need no one to help them, at all."

Jean-Luc leaned forward, placing cup and saucer on the low table next to the rest of the tea service, and sat up and forward in his chair. "That's never been my contention. I need the crew, and I need senior officers who keep me from becoming one of those hard-nosed, hard-headed, narrow-minded pedants who makes colossal mistakes that gets people killed, destroys a ship, starts a war -- too many lives depend on each decision a captain makes."

"Jean-Luc," she exclaimed in that soft, musical way she had. "Have you ever considered changing your career's path based on how you feel?"

Rolling his eyes, he laughed quietly to himself -- raised his hand to his forehead, tilting his head to rest his brow in his palm. "Oh, yes. Yes indeed."

"Has your career ever lost that battle?"

"It went almost dormant for a period of time. I came back, for the _Enterprise_. When I was very young, it won in a landslide, each time."

"And as you aged, it did not?"

"I'm not Will Riker," he said, sitting back, dropping his arm to the arm rest of the chair. 

"When you chose Starfleet instead of staying with Jenice, was it an easy decision to make?"

He said nothing -- stared into thin air, at nothing.

"Did you not contact her, because it was too difficult for you to leave if you had? Because you were afraid you could not put your decision into words? That it would weaken your resolve to stay in Starfleet?"

"We've already discussed this, Counselor," he said disapprovingly. They had, after the Mannheims left the ship, and not a day later, Deanna had bought he and Will drinks at the Blue Parrot Cafe. And, he realized, now that he thought about it more, she had stayed sober, nursing the single drink of her own while they went on to number two, then three. Will had been downing them like he was paying for them himself.

"It would surprise me if you were to say that you hadn't struggled with such decisions," she said, as if he had said anything about it. That had been an adjustment for him, understanding that she would address his unspoken emotions that were so obvious to her where with others he could keep them hidden. 

"Decisions -- it was more a choice, not decisive at all. Calling it a decision makes it sound so cleanly delineated and straightforward. Choosing between love and the strong calling of a career in Starfleet. It wasn't so much a choice as it was letting myself be pulled to and fro... I think it was instinct, more than anything else, fighting with myself over whether I wanted one of the two things I loved more than the other, and I don't think it was a clear win-lose. It was in the end just a choice. I had no clear picture of the end result."

Deanna was fairly grinning at the end of it, and nodded once as if affirming him for it. 

"Why are you so happy about that?"

"Not at all," she said, using a thumb to tuck her hair behind her right ear. "I was merely thinking that you've made amazing progress in self awareness since we first began to meet, last year. What were you thinking about just a bit ago, when you scolded me about already having discussed this?"

"Oh -- that visit to the bar on Sarona Eight. When you let us get completely inebriated and watched Will get chatty." The bragging had started around the end of the first drink, and gotten more explicit around the bottom of the second. 

"Ah, I thought it might be. You disapproved of Will's behavior at the time. But you said nothing."

"It's not my place to comment on the behavior of friends -- we weren't being officers. I did comment when he started to sing, that was a matter of having good taste," he said with a smirk.

But Deanna wasn't even smiling any more, simply gazing at him with serious dark eyes. "Some believe that friends should question or correct their friends, when they perceive they are going astray in some fashion. Making decisions that are not in their best interests, for example."

"I'm aware of that, but when the friend in question is also a subordinate, I feel that the burden of maintaining a boundary that should not be breached."

"If I came to you and asked whether I should take a promotion, what would you say?"

"I would probably encourage you in the same manner I did Will. Tell you what I see as the pros and cons. He asked me if I thought he would be a fool to turn down the promotion. I told him it was a choice between being second in command on the flagship, and being in charge on his own vessel."

"That wasn't what you told him," she said.

He stared at her, surprised.

"You also used a particular tone of voice. You used a particular wording. You told him whether or not you approved of his choice, whether you realize it or not, and whether he was really right in guessing what you really thought is immaterial. The message was more than any carefully-constructed neutral statement you made. He knows you, as we all do, and you do give us messages beyond the explicit. He wanted to stay, because we are the family he wanted more than anything, after his father abandoned him at thirteen to fend for himself. You didn't abandon him by taking a side, a hard stance, telling him what was right for him. I can even guess how he said it -- he came in the ready room, swung his leg over the back of the chair like always, leaned forward, and said something like, 'I would be a fool not to take the promotion, wouldn't I?' Because his father's voice echoes through the years like a tolling bell, guiding him ever farther away from that hard sell that Kyle Riker pushed on his own son. You told him that you care about him, by not being definitive -- you told him you trusted him to make the choice for himself. You are the affirming parent that he has never had."

"I am NOT -- "

"It's not about you," she exclaimed loudly over his ire. When he subsided, so did she. "I told you, there's no way for you to determine what anyone feels or thinks about you. He's going to have his own opinion of you regardless."

Jean-Luc slumped back in the chair and put his arms in his lap. "You want me to believe that attempting to avoid undue influence is pointless."

"Not pointless. You are managing boundaries with friends who are subordinates in as objective a manner as possible, and that's smart. But what purpose does it serve to ignore the rest of the story? You started this conversation by telling me that you think Will might be selling himself short, by staying. I'm questioning why you didn't simply tell him that."

"You already know my reasons. But I do think he could have made a name for himself, with a challenging mission, and it was disappointing that he decided to stay, in the end." 

"And instead of telling him just that, you kept your answer balanced. Told him he could make the choice without your help, which to someone who had choice and success stolen from him by a parent feels like approval."

He gazed at her then, thinking there was something odd about her wording. "Are you talking about Will? Or yourself?"

Deanna smiled faintly at it as she stood slowly. "I had my therapy early on, when I started going to college. Like so many psychologists, it was part of why I decided to be one. And joining Starfleet was not a choice made going to something, but from -- my mother will always be jealous of me, and frustrated by the fact that I will always know that about her. There was also my father's influence, true -- that would be why I chose Starfleet over simply moving away. My challenge has been to prove to myself that I am able to continue to be an officer while maintaining my own mental health -- I've made my peace with Mother, as much as her own insecurities will allow, anyway."

He tilted his head inquisitively. "Do you think that Will should have gone?"

Deanna snorted at that. "Oh, no. He's too young for that much responsibility."

"Coming from someone who's a year younger than he is, that sounds...."

"I don't think in terms of chronology. I am referring to a measure of maturity. He's too young."

"I find myself curious but afraid to ask where I rate on this measure," he said, infusing it with some amount of humor and intending for it to imply that he really didn't want to know. Although, as usual, she could sense more than he gave away.

"And so you throw out a non-question, backing off even farther from being responsible for any answer I might give." She glanced down at the tea cups. "Thank you, for the tea. I'll see you in the morning, Captain."

He watched her stride over to the door, the lavender skirt swaying and billowing in her wake, and sighed. She threw a glance over her shoulder and stopped before the door opened, half-turning. 

"And if you still want an answer, you can ask me the next time we meet."

"Good night, Counselor," he exclaimed, almost snapping at her. 

She turned, her hair swinging around like a cape, and left his quarters, leaving him to fume in the wake of her knowing smile.


	2. Pen Pals

"You're sure you won't reconsider?" he asked, as they strolled toward the holodeck.

"No, I'll just watch you and be impressed." She crossed her arms, as prone to defensiveness as anyone, and he smiled.

"An optimistic vote of confidence from a non-rider."

"You know, I never particularly thought of you as an animal person." They reached the door to holodeck two. It was midday, and the ship was surveying the Selcundi Drema sector -- it could be an adventure in cataloguing, or in first contact, and the fates would determine that for them. He hoped it would be a pleasantly unexpected positive experience, instead of one of those that tried them and found them wanting.

The doors opened, and he came to a halt in the arch. Deanna stood next to him and watched. "Small animals, no, but horses. Computer, program the holodeck for a woodland setting, with a bridle path and an appropriate mount."

"Type of mount? Andorian Zabathu, Klingon Sark -- "

Sometimes he forgot how specific the computer wanted them to be. "Horse. Earth horse." 

"Breed?"  

"Arabian." He glanced at Deanna. "The Arabs believed that Allah gathered the south wind and made the horse."

 "On the holodeck we've made that legend come true."

"I like that. Oh yes, computer, English tack, and I will control the animal myself." Jean-Luc smiled at that, and noticed she was giving him that amused look that said she knew how much he was enjoying himself. He'd long since stopped caring, as she never followed it up with anything that resembled teasing.

Well, most of the time, she didn't.

 "Enter when ready," the computer said helpfully.

"So you like horses for the romance?"

That wasn't _quite_ teasing. "It goes deeper than that. A fine war mare would sleep in a bedouin's tent, carry him into battle, feed his children with her milk. There's a bond which is created by mutual need.," he explained, coming into the simulation. A gray mare stood tied at a hitching rail. He touched her head, ran his hand down her nose, and she whickered softly and pushed into his touch. "Hello, beautiful," he said softly, responding as if it were a real horse.

"Now I understand. You don't want the comfort of a pet, you want a companion." Definitely not a tease, though Deanna's voice carried an unusual depth of warmth. It almost made him turn to face her, but instead, he handed her his crop and picked up the bridle, from where it lay across the saddle that was perfectly balanced on the hitching rail.

 "Thank you," he said, realizing too late that he had acted without asking. He pushed on. "I don't want to anthropomorphize anything. I seems that some creatures have the capacity to fill spaces you never knew were empty." 

"I had a Betazoid kitten once. My mother and the cat reacted badly to one another."

The relevance of that to the conversation wasn't quite clear. Perhaps she wasn't understanding this as well as she'd appeared to -- but perhaps that could be rectified. "Sure you don't want to try? It's very relaxing. We can find you something that will be quiet and gentle." Settling the saddle in place, he tightened the cinch.

"No, I prefer a mode of transportation that doesn't have a mind of its own."

"Strange. I would expect Betazoids to be outstanding animal trainers."

"We become too involved in the thoughts and shifting passions of the beast. We lose our way and get swept up in emotion." Her tone might sound more distant, to someone who hadn't talked to her very much.

"I should think the shifting passions of this beast would be far more terrifying," he said, tapping his own chest with the butt end of the crop.

She smirked, but it dwindled for some reason, and she tilted her head and looked thoughtful. Just then, the usual tone interrupted. Riker's voice came out of thin air. "Captain?"

He was putting his foot in the stirrup, and paused. "Yes, Number One?"

"We've entered the first system. I think you might want to come to the bridge."

And so he was off, leaving her there, to head for his quarters, double time, and once in uniform to the bridge. Where he spent the day being exasperated -- had he not just argued in a court of law that the android was a person with free will? and now that free will came back to bite him, risking a violation of the Prime Directive in the process of proving that there was more to Data than anyone expected. That he would be so caught up in the fate of a little girl -- who would have expected it? 

Eight weeks -- six staff meetings and fifty-six lonely evenings -- later, the viewports were once again filled with the stars at warp. Jean-Luc settled down with a book and attempted to eat something for dinner while he read. Lack of appetite led to simply sitting and reading. Which led to sitting and thinking.

When the annunciator went off, he clapped the book shut and set it aside, rose from the couch, said, "Come."

Deanna came in, holding a book. "I finally remembered I hadn't brought this back. I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Oh, no," he replied with a trace of sarcasm. "Did you enjoy it?"

She brought the green hardback with the worn corners to him, and he glanced at the cover -- he'd forgotten that he had lent it to her, several months ago. "I think I liked the Bronte novel better. This wasn't as easy for me to understand."

"Would you like something to drink?" An oblique way to ask her if she wanted to stay, to talk. 

Today, she wore another of those dresses she favored. The blue one, with the off-center neckline and the long sleeves. She had dark red lipstick, and maintained her polite smile. "I probably shouldn't."

"You sound tired."

"I was in Ten Forward listening to Will chew on the Prime Directive and Data's mistakes, at least until he left with someone," she said with a displeased, tiny frown. And then she sidled over and sat on the end of the couch, hands clasped in her lap as she shook her head slowly.

"Ah, yes, the near-tragedy of Drema Four." He went to the replicator, returned with two glasses of wine, handed one to her and settled at a respectful arm's length. "We turn into philosophers when we face such quandaries, don't we?"

"You could have told him not to, drawn the line for him, but when you heard the little girl's plea you crumbled."

"I suppose it's a good thing I don't have any children."

She kept leaning forward, the wine glass held by the stem in her fingers -- he approved of that, holding the glass so the wine wouldn't be warmed by the fingers, it was the entire purpose of the stem and hardly anyone ever understood that. Deanna was aristocratic -- something Will had said once, in passing, jokingly referring to her as the princess, and there had been something about the way he said it that made Jean-Luc think he was being resentful.

Deanna looked at him then, sitting up and sipping, and it reminded him again to stop being introspective in her presence.

"Data wants to believe he has no emotions, but I have to wonder," Jean-Luc commented, before she could turn her sharp powers of observation on him. 

"He has a good collection of algorithms," Deanna said.

A pause, while he disbelieved. "You don't think he felt empathy, for that little girl."

"If I am being candid, I have to confess that I think he felt as much as he is capable of feeling, and that's true of everyone. We all have a collection of algorithms with which to process emotional stimuli. He doesn't have the same kind of emotions, however."

Jean-Luc rolled his eyes, dramatically, and raised his glass to her before taking a first tentative sip of the replicated cabernet. It was as bad as he'd expected, but he didn't react. "Are we going to argue that case again, sans court?"

"No, I believe he's sentient. That's obvious. His choice to help Sarjenka shocked you, and it takes a lot to do that. You have a fondness for Data that's unlike your feelings for anyone else aboard, because you began by being fascinated by him as a machine, and then got to know him as a person. He may frustrate you by being awkwardly pedantic in his attempts at socializing with others, but you enjoy interacting with him in controlled circumstances. The holodeck, or on a mission. He fares better in a context."

"And so do I," he added, because he heard the pause.

Deanna's brow wrinkled and she pursed her lips -- he'd bemused her. He took another tiny amount of the wine on his tongue, and waved his free hand at her. 

"You rarely see me in situations not set in the larger context of Starfleet. I feel most at home with more structure than less."

"You are uncomfortable with discussing your relationship with Data, and you are shifting the conversation away from it by dragging a red herring in front of me." She set aside the glass on the end table. "Would you like to talk about the diversion, or the subject?"

"I realize that I asked you not to let me get away with avoidance, if you thought it would keep me from understanding myself better in some aspect that might influence duty, but I'm having difficulty seeing how my relationship with Data falls in that category."

"You're uncomfortable discussing it for a reason. I don't know what it is. If I don't ask, I'll never know and won't understand whether it affects your duty or not."

He sighed, heavily, and took a larger drink of the wine -- the swill was worse in greater quantities. 

"This is horrible wine, isn't it," she added.

He started to laugh, rising from the couch to pace around the room and grab her glass on the way to the replicator. He brought back two empty glasses to put in the center of the coffee table, and rummaged in the lowest of the shelves behind his desk to bring up a bottle of wine. He had to really search for the corkscrew he rarely used.

"You don't have to on my account, I would settle for tea," Deanna said.

"It's not the only bottle I have, or the best. It's been two months since I've had any and it goes with good conversation."

She watched him bring back the wine and start working the screw into the cork. "You don't enjoy all of our conversations, and I don't drink with clients."

"You said this wasn't precisely therapy."

"You said you don't talk to anyone this way, and that you benefit from our talks. That sounds more like therapy than not."

He got the cork out with a loud pop. "One could argue that Starfleet careers involve a certain level of masochism."

"Have you ever had to hand off command due to inebriation, in the event of a red alert?"

"Not in decades of command, no. Though it may jinx us for me to say so. Is Will currently unable to take command, if that should occur?"

"He's fine. He's not doing anything that would compromise his fitness for duty." Displeasure in her face, a brief glare, at the mention of the first officer. He'd had the impression they were very good friends, sometimes supposed they were more than that, but he had come to the conclusion that wasn't necessarily as it appeared. Anyone aboard might argue the same about him as well -- not that he cared. There were worse things that someone supposing that a very young, very beautiful woman found him irresistible to the point that she spent time off duty with him. 

It jarred him, arriving there -- thinking that way about her. It started to feel dangerous.

She took the half-filled glass from him without touching his fingers -- he'd purposefully held it so she would, cupping the bowl with the stem dangling. 

"What has Will done to incite you to anger?" He asked it lightly, hoping her anger had kept her from noticing his brief flirtation with the inappropriate.

"Nothing he hasn't done before. He's remarkable, honestly, in the depths of his self-deception." 

Jean-Luc had to wonder what the hell Will had said this time, but decided not to go that route. He returned to the very center of the couch, putting himself beyond arm's length, and angled slightly toward her, crossing his legs. "We can be blind, can't we? I suppose the stubborn side comes out in spades, when he's on the defensive."

"I wish we had another counselor aboard. I can't confront him or provide therapy." There was a subtle suggestion that she found Will difficult to manage, on the professional plane -- beyond what the ship's counselor would be responsible for, as an officer.

"I can request an assistant counselor -- I'd want you to help me make the selection, if the goal is someone who addresses his needs in addition to helping you with the rest of the crew. You'd said we had more demand for your services than Starfleet anticipated, anyway. I'll make a call in the morning." He finally tested the wine, and smiled -- it was a joy to have a good glass of wine.

"I'll bring a list of good candidates when you are ready to discuss it," she said.

"I suppose his stance regarding Data was similar to what he said in the briefing. That it would be best to remain distant, and watch a civilization die without our intervention."

Deanna made a face that confirmed it. "He can talk. I would have to suffer for that decision. I'm glad you chose as you did, for several reasons."

Of course -- she would have sensed their deaths. He stared at her with a new appreciation for her presence aboard his vessel, where they confronted death so often. "As am I."

She drank a little more wine, smiled -- definitely an improvement -- and kept her eyes averted, partially closed. He had the impression that she wasn't saying what she was thinking out of a desire to protect him.

"I wonder," he began casually, swirling the Syrah in the glass languidly, "if Betazoids have a different perspective than the Federation on some of these key issues."

Her head came up and she contemplated him seriously. "Why would you say that?"

"It would make sense for someone with extra levels of perspective on a matter to have a different perspective. If I were able to sense the outcomes of my behavior toward others, I wouldn't have to develop a sense of ethics that would prevent my causing others pain. I would understand that pain directly."

"Your own occasional pains aren't educational enough for you?" The smile of amusement flickered across her lips as she raised the glass again.

"I'd say human history proves fairly thoroughly that it doesn't. Abuse of all kinds was a widespread problem. The hubris of humanity pretending that it owns or has a right to abuse other beings is well established. I don't recall there being similar history on Betazed."

"Betazoids have a longer history than you do. We also don't write all of it down for you to read." Again, she averted her eyes, casting her gaze into her wine. "We share it with each other directly, of course, because as you say, once we understand the pain we can cause, avoiding the repetition of those times when the quest for power and glory and property resulted in the exploitation of others becomes much more likely."

He reached for the bottle, to add more wine to his glass. "A sobering thought to contemplate taking in all of human history in that manner."

She said nothing, continued to stare at the wine in her glass.

"Data is lonely," he said, after a few moments of review of the conversation. It got her attention, brought her back from her study of the bottom of her glass.

"That little voice reaching out across the void touched you deeply," she said, leaving the android out of the conversation completely. 

"How could it not? You heard her."

Deanna smiled at him fondly. "I also 'hear' you sitting here, in your quarters every night, staring at the words on pages or at the stars, thinking deep thoughts and feeling as though you have no one."

Now it was his turn to avoid looking at her. Caught. He smiled ruefully and kicked himself for forgetting. "I suppose no one else aboard feels the same?"

"I didn't say that. There are those who are content to be solitary. There are those who seek out the pleasure of warm bodies, and others who merely spend time chatting or playing games. There are lonely ones, who yearn for the company of someone who understands them completely, for the kind of relationship that requires no words and no filter, and settle for the same things, physical or mental companionship."

"And then there's that one client who relies entirely on subspace chats with friends a few times a year, and sessions with his counselor?" 

"There is one other person aboard who maintains superficial relationships with people and feels completely alone, and suffers for it."

He suspected she spoke of herself, but hesitated to confirm it. "Data?"

Deanna shot him a skeptical look. "Data does not suffer."

"It's not Will, certainly. He makes friends with the sort of ease that I used to pretend that I had with people."

"Pretend? Not what I would expect even of a less evolved version of you." She nearly drained her glass, and he leaned to grab the bottle and then pour what was left in her glass.

"I was naive and skilled in self deception, for too long. Saying frivolous things, false promises and reassurances that I had no intent to carry through and seeing the pain in the eyes of the person I took advantage of, that was all part of a game people played, part of what we all did. Except not all of us did it -- and I am ashamed to admit that it took someone else calling me out on it to get me to stop."

"There are receptive people who play the other side of the game as well," she commented, with a wry twist at the end of her mouth. "The ones who knew there had to be someone for them, and that some day, the right person would say the words, and really mean them. They would be true, finally, and they would be loved forever, just as that wonderful person had said. But unfortunately love is more than a promise. It's a series of choices you make, throughout the time you choose to be with the other person, and while that's hardly the romance my mother is continually thinking she will find, it's less traumatic to keep in mind that trust and love are things that you build over time."

"Too bad this evolved perception can't be shared with the very young and very stupid," he said, smirking, then bringing his glass to his lips. 

"Yes, we should add it to all the food as it's replicated," she said with a little too much acid. "Hopefully it will counter as well that popular game of believing you're hurting no one if you're honest about having no intention of an ongoing relationship with the other person. As ship's counselor I have a running tally of the people who pretended that was possible for them and found out otherwise, the hard way, then had to work with the 'fuck buddy' until one of them transferred."

"Deanna...."

She blinked, gazed at him with a deep scowl in place that made him wish they hadn't talked about this at all. It softened a little, possibly as she sensed the regret. "Everyone has a right to do and feel as they please," she said, sadness creeping into her voice. 

"I've found the answer to the question I wasn't going to ask. Thank you."

"What's that?"

"Why there aren't more Betazoids in Starfleet. What madness and pain we must inflict upon telepaths, we who are so prone to delusion and emotional stupidity. It makes me wonder that you have any friends at -- "

"Thank you, for the wine. It's very good. But I'm afraid I'm getting tipsy and the next step will be falling asleep, so I should get back to my quarters. I'll see you in the morning, Captain." She left the dregs in her glass on the table and did appear a little wobbly as she left his quarters. 

"Well," he said to what was left of his wine. "I suppose that answers the question of who the other person is, just the same."

Jean-Luc found himself a bit unsteady as well, as he went to recycle the glasses, and put in the bottle too. "Computer, one glass of water." After the computer clarified how cold he wanted it, the glass materialized, and he downed half of it in hopes of countering the alcohol. 

The chime thwarted his attempt to head for the bedroom. It was getting pretty damned late, so he went with the theory that it was a senior officer, and found himself to be correct. Will came in -- out of uniform, dressed in a green and silver turtleneck and with his hair looking like there had been fingers in it recently. 

"Something wrong?" Jean-Luc exclaimed at once, sharply.

"No, I was just coming back to my quarters and saw Deanna leaving -- is everything all right, sir?" 

Jean-Luc found himself scowling at his first officer. Will regrouped -- he wasn't exactly the poster boy for clear-headed, either, at the moment, but it didn't appear to be substance related. There was, Jean-Luc noticed, a slight discoloration around his eye.

"All right... sorry to have bothered you. I was just -- concerned. It's late, I thought that if another officer -- but of course if you were talking to the counselor it's not really my business -- sorry. Sir."

"Is everything all right, Commander?" Jean-Luc asked, with the faint undertone of suspicion.

"Of course. I was just spending some time with... a friend."

The first impulse, easily thwarted by adherence to his non-interference policy regarding personal lives of subordinates, was to say something about being stupid enough to play around on one's own vessel. The second, to simply ask and obtain information to file away for the possible future court-martial, was set aside as well. The general fuzziness from the wine wasn't clearing, and so he hesitated. And as it turned out, not saying a word was just as effective as any question. He recalled the conversation with Deanna about perceptions, and how what he said sometimes carried more meaning than he thought it did, and listened to Will.

"Shelly and I were boating on the holodeck," Will said with his lopsided grin. "Under the stars."

Jean-Luc raised an eyebrow. "Sounds romantic."

"Well, until -- it tipped over. Anyway, I'm just glad the water goes away when you cancel the program."

"Commander," Jean-Luc began. But again, the well-honed sense of self preservation stepped in. The chide about dalliances with subordinates went unspoken. But. "You know that if there had been some emergency for which an officer was required, you would have been the one contacted. Not the counselor."

Will stiffened, took a step backward. "Yes, sir."

"I'll thank you to refrain from commentary regarding my off duty activities by refraining from comment on your own. If you find that arrangement satisfactory. Although I would add the caveat that any undue influence on our duties would require action."

The blue eyes went contemplative as his brow furrowed. Something shifted -- his expression went through surprise to a subtle, angry seethe as Will tried to hide his feelings and restore his poker face. "All right," he said, with the hint of uncertainty that confirmed he wasn't certain what to think about the situation. 

"I would ask as well that you take care that any future 'boating accidents' be dealt with in such manner that they will completely escape my notice. I'm not a counselor."

"No, sir," Will murmured. He now adopted the expression of a sullen boy fresh from the woodshed, jaw jutting but trying hard not to speak.

"Speaking of which, it has been brought to my attention that the counselor is, for a valid reason that I am certain you understand, unable to provide counseling to you -- and we have not rectified that. So within the next few weeks we should be choosing an assistant counselor, who will address any issues that you may have. In light of your propensity for... boating accidents, I thought you might like to know. I hope that you come to appreciate the opportunity to develop increased insight and self awareness as much as I have. Good night, Number One."

Jean-Luc strode into his bedroom and set the water on his table, sat down on the bed, and closed his eyes. After a moment of silence, he said, "Computer, location of Commander Riker."

"Commander Riker is in his quarters."

"Good," Jean-Luc muttered. He'd been momentarily concerned that Will would attempt to talk to Deanna. He spent a few moments worrying at himself for it. His officers had become good friends, and there was no reason for him to feel concern for either of the two, really. He set it aside and went to bed.

At the briefing the following morning, Will didn't have a trace of the black eye, but Beverly was studiously avoiding eye contact with the first officer, looking at her padd and trying not to smile. Deanna kept smiling the innocuous and pleasant smile of the counselor, but wasn't looking at him either. It occurred to Jean-Luc that she likely sensed what was going on with Will last night even while she had been talking to him. 

"Good morning," Jean-Luc said, looking up from the monitor on the table before him as the door opened and Data and Geordi came in to join the meeting. "I'd like to hear from each of you the status of your department, before we begin discussing our next assignment."

Everyone turned to look at him as he spoke, and it was just another day aboard the Enterprise again.

==============


	3. Q Who/Up the Long Ladder/Manhunt

"I am so, so sorry."

Jean-Luc stared at the toe of his boot, instead of looking at Deanna. "Two hundred fifty-two."

"What?" 

It was the disruption that was needed, at long last. He glanced at her and found she'd moved from tearful and holding her head and apologizing, to staring at him in confusion.

"I've been counting your apologies and that's where we stand as of now. Any time you want to feel your obligation is met, feel free to stop." He was, of course, exaggerating greatly -- she'd been apologizing off and on since her mother's departure, perhaps five or six times.

Her wince was epic. "Captain -- "

"Is that any way to address a potential step-father?"

She not only rolled her eyes, but her head and upper body -- she fell to one side and covered her face with her hands. To his surprise, she started to chuckle, and then to laugh. He sat with his eyebrows held high, waiting for it to stop. She started to recover, looked at him again, and started to laugh again. It took her a bit to calm herself again.

"And to think Will accused you of having no sense of humor," she said with a grin.

"What?"

She brushed away stray tears with a knuckle and kept smiling that smile of delight -- the one that he had never seen before, that filled her eyes with humor and put a sweet little dimple at the corner of her mouth. "Oh, that was a long time ago. We know better now."

"Are you nearly done with -- what did Beverly call it? Mama trauma?"

It was indeed enough to make her laugh -- she was pulling herself upright and as he said it she started to giggle all over again. She covered her mouth with her hand and snorted. Which made him smile, finally.

"She was trying to marry a hologram," Deanna exclaimed. "She wanted to marry Will -- she honestly doesn't think about anything, I can't believe she tried to -- "

"Deanna. It's time to breathe and forget about it -- she's gone."

"I know. I simply can't believe she did it -- an entire planet full of people back home, and she had to come all the way here and harass my friends! I was so angry. And now I just feel... resigned."

"She's a force of nature." He glanced at her, with a shake of the head, and sobered. "What changed her?"

"What do you mean?"

"I cannot imagine how you are what you are, with a parent like that."

Deanna nodded, slowly, and smiled. "She isn't always like that. She wasn't that way when I was a child." She looked away, pressing her palm to her forehead, and he had some time to notice that she wasn't quite so composed as usual, her hair in some disarray and the upright posture less upright than usual. She sat up again and dropped her hands to fidget with folds of her skirt. 

"You weren't always like this."

"No," she admitted quietly. "And of course -- "

" -- I'm light years from what I was," he said for her. "I would have reacted to her very differently, before, you know. Just as I would have to Q."

While she considered, he thought about getting wine, but decided to refrain. Instead he refreshed her tea, pushed the sugar and cream closer to her, and sat back again in his chair. And of course, she took a different tangent, moving away from her own touchy subject to one of his, following his lead back to the normal course of one of their conversations -- debriefings, as he had come to think of them. 

"You would have been more susceptible to Q's goading. Yet there are times you're more emotional than others, rather than your usual calm. Usually when someone comments on you personally."

"There are some things that are hard to set aside. Q is the schoolyard bully who wants to throw us down and beat us to prove his superiority."

Deanna inclined her head to the left, now sober and focused instead of crying about her mother's behavior, which was an improvement. "I don't think so."

"No?"

"He would beat us if he wanted. Your analogy of a cat playing with small animals is more correct, but even that is not quite right. I think his testing is more subtle than that. I think the appearance, all the ludicrous hand-waving and posturing, is to distract us from the real intent."

"I would say the same. The last thing Q said was a taunt, he does nothing but mock and taunt and yet -- and yet -- "

"Although he says it in the manner of a child mocking another child, he's telling the truth," Deanna said. "After the first time he came you had decided he was merely a bored entity trying to communicate on our plane and failing to accurately ascertain how to do that effectively. Do you still think that?"

"No. I believe he's doing exactly as he intends. His mannerisms are consistent with the message -- we don't measure up. We're powerless. He can do as he pleases."

Deanna smiled down into her cup as she sipped, holding the china with both hands. "Like Mother."

He almost protested. But. "I don't see that they are equivalent, but similarly annoying, yes."

"You haven't done all your homework," Deanna said, with a slight lilt of mock-scolding. "Mother is a member of our government on Betazed. A diplomat for the Federation. A wealthy woman with vast properties on her homeworld, not to mention a mine in the Xanthora system and the small fleet of trade vessels she has Homn managing for her. And there -- you would never have guessed that Homn was anything but the manservant carrying her luggage when she has no starship captain to do it. By the way -- next time she tries to do that to you, run your thumb along the bottom of the handle to toggle the switch set there. That will make it much easier to carry."

He spent a few moments in frustration, and looking at her again, he sighed, accepted it and smiled. "So the Federation is her playground."

"Mother has a different agenda than Q, however. She isn't trying to impress anyone, or educate them, she's simply having fun. As I've said before, I don't get much from Q, he either doesn't have emotions or they are manifesting in some manner I can't detect -- but I don't think he's actually having fun."

"And I don't think he's necessarily educating us, or only intending to. I think there's a purpose he hasn't yet revealed. Showing us the Borg, demonstrating their nature as he did -- if you remove all the window dressing, that could appear altruistic. Protective, even. When I submitted my reports to Starfleet the reaction was immediate -- evidently, it wasn't the first time that some had heard of the Borg. I got a call, and an admiral went through it with me step by step as if hoping to find details I had forgotten to include. It's been taken very seriously. More seriously than Q."

"That's somewhat disturbing," Deanna said. "Arguably, Q is more dangerous. Although it may be that Command accepts that there is literally nothing we can do about him, and so they don't waste time in discussion."

"Which is what you do with your Mother, each time she comes, begging her to behave. I suspect you are her equal in stubbornness and temper. But if you met her head on, with confrontation instead of placating, the end result would be more devastating."

Deanna went pensive, for a few moments. She raised her eyes again as she spoke. "How do you feel about my mother?"

He sighed, and gave her that chagrined smile that said she knew well enough. "I don't appreciate the artifice. There's nothing real in the way she approaches me. Perhaps it's all the more confusing because I know you're related to her, and I almost expected her to be -- well. More like you. Not making up things she's supposedly reading from me."

"Projecting on you. When she came with the Millers last year it was less evident, without the phase complicating her feelings."

"I almost wish that she would actually look into my mind, and correct her monologue. But that isn't the point, either, is it? The monologue is as much a distraction as the manic happiness."

"It's difficult to find the balance sometimes. As much as I enjoy Data's company, I find that I struggle with it. And then I spend time with Mother and find the company of my clients to be a relief."

Jean-Luc gazed at her, and thought about all his attempts at being more balanced himself. She lost some of her smile and gazed back. Knowing she could sense the regret and the loneliness, he went on to talk about it.

"You always seem able to return to equilibrium. You show stress, just as we all do at times, but when we're not in the middle of something you are -- you appear to be calm, even serene. And I know that you know this, because you're always aware, but I never talk about being alone and feeling so torn, between continuing to be as I have been, and considering a change -- not that there's anyone...."

Her eyes glimmered wetly, and she looked away, down, her smile shaky and slowly becoming something else. 

"I'm sorry," he said, mostly because he didn't know what else to do, being unsure of what had brought her to tears, and afraid to ask.

"I'm still too -- I think Mother's visit unsettled me more than I thought, I'm sorry, Captain," she said, leaning to put down her cup and brushing her hands up her face. She held them over her eyes briefly and then faced him again, looking less tearful.

It was his turn to feel unsettled. Unsure of what to say. He was accustomed to her composure, he realized, and it shook him to see her that upset. 

"I was wrong," she said softly.

"Wrong?"

"Remember a few weeks ago, when we were talking about the Mariposans and the Bringloidi?"

"Oh, yes. You were upset about the attitude of the Mariposans."

"Of course I was," she exclaimed. "They stole and cloned some of our crew."

"And before that you were upset about the Bringloidi, because they were so disruptive."

Deanna shook her head with the forbearance that suggested she was tolerating nonsense. "That wasn't what I said. I wasn't saying exactly what I meant, because... never mind. The real issue was that I stopped being the ship's counselor, and started venting to you about what bothered me. And it wasn't an officer approaching a captain, either."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"Therapy only works when there is a certain... distance. It's not like a friendship, it isn't a two-way relationship."

"Well, I suppose I can see how that would be the case. Are you wanting to stop meeting with me, then?"

She sighed heavily and gave him another of those insulted looks that suggested he was being really thick headed. "Do you want to stop?"

"No," he said, then frowned. "Wait -- am I being fired from your client list?"

"I'm firing myself, because I've been irresponsible," Deanna exclaimed, with a matching frown.

"Are you writing yourself up for it, or am I to do that as the captain? I'm just trying to understand my role, here."

She gave him a wide-eyed look he hadn't seen before -- something in the neighborhood of terror, perhaps, but then she smiled. "You're just a friend. Nothing to be alarmed about. You didn't do anything wrong."

"So you did, and I'm being punished for it?"

"I'm not -- it's not about you, it's that I'm not going to be able to -- you're being dense, on purpose, and now you're laughing at me. Ha, ha. Very funny," she exclaimed, as he couldn't keep his face straight any more.

"Well, it was for a minute. Except you appear to feel guilty about being unable to do something I really didn't feel that I needed, anyway, and it's hardly a tragedy that we're friends." He held his hands up in surrender. "So what was it you were really upset about, when we had the Bringloidi aboard?"

"Nothing I can talk about," she insisted resolutely.

"Not even if I promise not to tell anyone?"

Deanna had a way of setting her mouth in a disapproving line that put him on edge. But she dropped her gaze again, thinking. "They were very... lusty."

"Oh, that." When she stared at him he shrugged. "I'm old, not dead. There were a few propositions that I turned a deaf ear to, because they were refugees, of a sort, and none of them were... I suppose the best word is 'compatible.' I don't tend to generalize but it did seem to me that Bringloidi women in general are aggressive, in a manner I find offputting."

At that, Deanna smiled sadly. "Not everyone felt that way."

That of course reminded him of previous conversations, about the varying attitudes of crew regarding the ethics of sexual congress on starships. "I suspect that there must be something about interactions between crew and the Bringloidi in particular that you find vexing, as it's hardly anything new, that people have sex on starships."

"You avoided it, but it's not problematic for other officers, to engage in such activity with passengers."

"They were human passengers. Not precisely Federation citizens, but not a first contact. I'm no James Kirk, by any means, when it comes to such things, but -- we're not talking about non consensual acts, are we?"

"No. I'm fairly certain consent was mutual and ongoing," she said with a curl of the lip.

"Ah, so, it kept you awake all night, making you peevish. I see."

Deanna glared, then unexpectedly grabbed one of the throw pillows and chucked it at him. He caught it and tossed it aside. And then she moved the conversation along, as well. "So the assistant counselor will have to provide you with any personal counseling that you may need."

"Or I could just not bother."

She was looking at him through her eyelashes, inhaling slowly in that trying-to-be-calm way she'd exhibited while her mother was aboard. "You're going to make me report you to someone for not doing what you need to do, if you need to do it?"

"I suppose being that strict about this means you can't be accused of favoritism."

"There's this issue I have, with this other officer who expects me to do my duty? I believe you know the captain."

"If you're going to resort to sarcasm I'll have to get the wine."

It won him a faint smile -- he'd gained a little ground. Not the delighted smile yet, but better than frowning or scowling or glaring. 

"That was an offer -- would you like some?"

Her smile reached her eyes, but she looked tired. "I would, but perhaps some other evening, when I'm less apt to fall asleep. I'm starting to fade."

Jean-Luc stood up with her and followed her as far as the door. She stopped as the door opened, and looked back at him -- he'd been about to say good night, and the unreadable look on her face made him forget that. The ends of her mouth twitched, and she turned and left his quarters.

"Not dead," he muttered, smirking, and headed into his bedroom.


	4. Evolution/Ensigns of Command

"You enjoyed it?" Jean-Luc strolled along the corridor toward his door. The lift was about six doors away, and the senior officers' quarters were larger than the standard cabin, even on a Galaxy class. It meant walking nearly a quarter mile between his suite and the nearest turbolift. He chided himself for that anxiety-driven analysis.

Deanna, wearing gray jodhpurs and pale pink shirt and jacket combo, smiled at him -- the dimple was there, but faint. "I did. Holodeck horses aren't emotional, after all."

"If we go again, we can change the setting -- I've never ridden in the North American landscape. It's been French or English, usually. Or we could go to Betazed," he said, glancing at her as he gently slapped the crop he carried across his palm, then spun it around to tuck it under his arm.

"We can talk about it, I can show you Betazed -- you may change your mind about riding there, however." She lost some of the happiness as they continued along the gentle curve of the corridor. He touched her arm, and they stopped a few slow steps later.

"Deanna?"

She smiled at him sadly, and took his hand. It froze him in place, just for a few seconds. She let go, dropped her hand and turned her head -- and then he heard it too, footfalls on the approach. A few seconds later Will Riker came around the corner with a lieutenant -- a happy, laughing woman, who was looking up at Will with full eye contact and flushed cheeks.

The couple breezed by, and at the last second Will glanced at them. "Good evening, sir. Deanna." And then he was off, turning back to Lieutenant Graves with a grin. "What do you think, tomorrow, you, me, at the concert?"

"I'll have to ask Mr. LaForge if I can take the time off," the woman said. And then they were going through the door into Will's quarters.

Deanna appeared to disapprove -- her expression and stiff posture were familiar enough. She'd expressed in similar fashion that same disapproval, several times when she'd hinted at Will's dalliances with female crew, or he had. "Why does it bother you?" Jean-Luc asked, at long last voicing the curiosity he felt about that.

"Not here," she murmured, turning to walk onward.

Once they were in his quarters, he tossed the crop on the table and picked up the corkscrew to address the bottle of wine he'd left out for them to share. She unexpectedly pressed her cheek against his shoulder, sliding her arm around his, her hand down his wrist to press her fingers between his.

He put down the corkscrew again, after a moment of shock, and turned to face her, which brought them within centimeters of each other.

"I just know how she's going to feel," Deanna whispered. "It will be so wonderful, so much fun, and her head will understand what was said, but before she knows it she wants something else. The elusive romance will seem so close, so real, and then the reminder comes that we said it wasn't forever, after all. And it will hurt -- then after a while it won't be so hard, to see him around. Until the next one, who knows it isn't personal, isn't permanent. The temptation to warn the new girl. Half the time a transfer is the real end of it all. I have to count it as evolution. At least he doesn't lie to anyone, not intentionally anyway. He doesn't leave them standing in the middle of a wedding somewhere, with a subspace message to explain that he's not going to be there after all."

He exhaled slowly, and drew her into his arms. There really was nothing at all to say. He knew she had many clients, and often dealt with the emotional tribulations of failed romances, and couldn't talk in specifics about it. He suspected that her example of the canceled wedding was her own.

It was the first time he'd ever held her this way, and after a moment he felt her arms creep up around his ribs. He sighed, as her head came to rest against his shoulder, and started to forget the reason she'd started the embrace.

"I'm going to talk to him again," she murmured. "I'll have to confront him a little more strongly this time. I don't think he realizes the impact he's having."

"Let me know if you need me to back you up."

"All right." Her breath trickled warmly along his throat. "Mmm."

He didn't want to, really, but after some minutes he took a step back, to look at her. She smiled tentatively and glanced at the bottle of wine. "Is it the Zinfandel?"

"Yes, the last one." He picked up the corkscrew again.

"Maybe we should save it for a special occasion," she said.

"I thought this was."

Her eyes came up again, wide and startled. The resulting smile, as she registered how he was feeling at the moment, was brilliant. "Is it?"

"I finally got you on a horse, and I haven't seen you in a few weeks. Well -- not like this, anyway, and it feels as though it's been longer, and -- I've been thinking, about...."

Deanna shrugged, a gesture that when accompanied by turning away abruptly and standing just an arm's length away said she was feeling somewhat anxious. He hoped that was all it was. When he brought the glass to her, she took it, shot him a smile, and went with him to sit on the couch. As she had the last few times they'd met this way, she settled close, but not touching him.

"About us," she said, finishing his abandoned sentence, then sipping the wine. "Yes."

"I thought about talking to the counselor about it." He'd met with Counselor Abernathy once, found him to be benign -- it had made him realize how much of his ability to talk to Troi had been her, the soft smile and the gentle questions, and her patience. He knew there wasn't any way to talk to Abernathy about his relationship with Deanna in a useful manner. The man was a veteran therapist, a psychologist who'd been working on Earth for years, then joined Starfleet -- he had no practical experience as an officer and the thought of discussing the situation with him made Jean-Luc feel ill at ease.

"Do you like Mr. Abernathy? I hear good things," Deanna said.

"I have no strong feelings about him either way. He seems proficient enough. But I thought about it and decided I had to talk to you first, about... it's not at all what I...."

"I know we need to talk," she said softly, putting a hand on his thigh. "But I don't think we necessarily need to do it right now. I'm not in a hurry. Are you?"

"No." Just hearing her acknowledge it and not sound anxious helped him immensely. "But I also know you sense... it's not what I expected, and it's difficult for me to understand, that I could be -- I feel like a hypocrite," he exclaimed.

"You do," she half-asked, sipping, frowning.

"I always promised myself that I would never -- not on my own ship, anyway, and never -- but I can't stop thinking about... if there were ever anyone that might be able to manage it, having a professional relationship as well as -- do you think there's any reason that it wouldn't work?"

She was smiling again -- it was that amused, fond smile she had when he found himself in some embarrassingly ridiculous situation that he supposed might be amusing, in the next century or so. But it morphed into another version of her smile, the less frequent one that put him into an excited state that he couldn't quite put away again.

"I'll think about it, but nothing comes to mind at the moment. It occurs to me that you have had sufficient experience that you would be best able to make that determination, despite the obvious bias." Her wine was diminishing at a rapid pace; she took a tiny sip, looking down into the glass. "I hope we don't have any more contact with the Sheliak. Unpleasant people. The emotional equivalent of walking on glass -- it gave me a headache."

"We'll cross our fingers. Re-reading that damned accord isn't high on my list of entertaining activities." He glanced at the viewports, where the stars visible from the Tau Cygna Five system were glittering. The ship was still in orbit, awaiting the transport that would remove the planet's inhabitants to accommodate the Sheliak.

"Data made a friend or two, this time. I played chess with him earlier -- he told me about Ard'rian, a woman who was fascinated by him. Apparently she developed feelings about him. He told her that he had no feelings at all, but then in almost the same sentence he confessed to me that he kissed her, because she appeared to need it -- it might make her feel better, he decided."

That was more than a little surprising, to Jean-Luc. "I'm glad he's making a habit of going to you for these discussions. Does he understand things a little more clearly?"

"The discussion took us into the realms of emotions that he hasn't thought about since Tasha died. It was difficult for him to come to any conclusions. I usually try to let people get to things slowly, and on their own time, but I find he needs much more definition building than so many of us -- of course he does."

"I'm hopeful, for him. With you to help him, even more so." He paused, trying to think again about how to approach the subject he struggled with.

She was amused, probably on several fronts. "Data said he thought about talking to you. I suggested that personal issues were not your responsibility -- he nodded and that launched the rest of the discussion, a primer on relationships for the Starfleet officer -- with people you meet once, and officers you see every day, and why some behavior is appropriate only under specific circumstances."

"He must be one of your more challenging clients."

"But I enjoy my work, just the same. It's been such wonderful experience, as a counselor with such a diverse crew. I appreciate too the ability to work with children. Not something I would have expected to enjoy as much as I have."

He left her briefly to retrieve the wine bottle, add a little more to each of their glasses, and sit next to her again, so very slightly closer than before. "How is Wesley? He seemed very upset about his experiment becoming a crisis." The nanites had come close to ending everything, for everyone. Wesley had apologized to the senior officers multiple times and had a hangdog expression for days.

"He's better. Forgiving himself, I think. I've only met with him a couple of times -- having his mother back is helping more than I am, I think. He missed her so much, even if he never admitted that." She regarded him soberly, letting her hand fall on his leg again as if it were an automatic, natural thing for her to do now, instead of something she had just done for only the second time. "You haven't spent much time with him, have you?"

"He always seems focused on his duties -- he spends a lot of time with Will. I suppose I hadn't thought that I really needed to, but it sounds as though you're about to tell me otherwise?"

The wrinkle between her eyebrows said consternation. "Why wouldn't you spend time with your best friend's son?"

"Because -- " He thought about the last awkward conversation with the boy, and realized in short order that any reason he could offer was a bad one, when he'd been overcoming increasing anxiety that led to awkwardness for several months without letting that be an impediment to having her drinking wine and smiling at him. He blinked, and smiled back at her.

"One awkward negotiation at a time," he said, raising his glass to his lips.

"Who did you have, when you were his age?"

Startled, he almost inhaled the wine, and tried not to drop the glass. "I had Boothby, and a couple of professors, and my -- Oh, well, I suppose I should try harder, shouldn't I? He's probably going to make it to the Academy one of these times. And then there will be no real opportunities."

Deanna nodded, and turned to set down her glass on the end table behind her. She started to pull at her hair, which she'd braided and pinned up for the trip to the holodeck to keep it out of the way. "I'm sorry, these pins are driving me crazy. I think you wouldn't regret the effort. Wes looks up to you more than you probably realize."

"It's nice to have Beverly back." It was something innocuous to say, to distract him from the impulse to help her shake out her hair.

"I thought you would eventually make your peace with Kate -- but she wasn't helping, I'd hoped she would have let up eventually instead of continuing to tease you that way. She had to know the flirting would go nowhere, but kept doing it anyway." Deanna's thin-lipped disapproval was back. She put a handful of pins on the table and ran her fingers through her hair until it cascaded down her left shoulder.

"Women like her are not appealing to me, as I've previously noted. I was surprised she didn't take up with Worf, actually." The doctor had spent a lot of time talking and drinking with the Klingon, no secret there. Will had mentioned they were often in Ten Forward singing Klingon drinking songs together.

Deanna gave away more when one knew that the more juicy the details, the quicker she was to mask the smile and move on to something else. She reached for the glass again, actually turning her face toward it to hide a flush and a quickly-flattened smile. "Worf is always bragging that human women are too 'fragile,'" she exclaimed, with a smidgen too much emphasis.

"Oh, my god. There was something there," he said quietly, smirking at the thought.

"Only because Kyle Riker didn't take her with him," she said flatly. She did not approve of the elder Riker in the slightest, that had been obvious from her demeanor when his name was spoken. "And it hardly went anywhere. You said you weren't a gossip."

"I'm more surprised that I was actually right about something. I'm no good at predictions. I had thought that Will would settle down, stop being so... prolific. But it's been almost two years, and no end in sight." And then, noticing her frown, decided not to be a gossip. "I'm hoping that you will come for dinner, next week?" They hadn't been eating together, just sitting and talking, and it was past time to rectify that.

Her eyes swept up to meet his, and the scowl vanished. "I would like that," she murmured.

"I -- "

When he couldn't continue, she looked away again. They sat together, her hand on his thigh, for a long moment. He couldn't stand it, had no words, so put his hand over hers rather than remain frozen and anxious. Her fingers closed lightly around his thumb, and finally she looked at him -- her smile and the soft lights in her eyes put a different kind of anxiety in the pit of his stomach.

"It's been a long, long time," he said at last. "And this isn't -- I've walked away before, I've been resolute, and I don't want to do that to you. I'm sorry it's not...."

"I know. It's all right."

"This is my last ship," he said, going back to what he'd been thinking about earlier in the day.

It brought back the confused little frown. "It is?"

"I always expected I would die in the line of duty, you know. I almost... planned it that way. I'd decided that I wouldn't be an admiral. I didn't want to grow old and be alone."

"Has that changed?" She put her other hand over his, derailing his train of thought briefly.

"I don't know. It feels like -- everything has. Like it could be different."

She smiled again, nodding. "Good."

Jean-Luc brought up his glass. She reached for hers, and held it up as well, leaving her other hand holding his.

"To us," he said, in spite of the gnarled feeling in his stomach.

Deanna tapped her glass to his, lightly. "To brighter futures," she said, smiling happily.

They drank, together, and when the glasses were set aside he settled back, placing his boots on the table, put his arm around her, and she nestled close against him. It took a while to calm himself, and by the time he'd accomplished that, she had fallen asleep. A lightweight, indeed. His cheek against the top of her head, he closed his eyes as well.

He awakened when she started to sit up, some time later. "Oh, I'm sorry," she murmured, blinking.

"Not at all. I dropped off too -- we were both tired, obviously. Playing Sheliak games wears you out."

"I should go, I suppose -- I have early appointments." Her apologetic tone made him smile. He brushed her hair back from her face, without thinking overmuch about it, caressing her temple down to her mouth with his thumb, and it was as if he'd turned on her bright smile -- it was the easiest thing, the most natural thing, to lean in and kiss that smile. And then they were kissing with her arms sliding up around his neck, and his hand in her hair, until his entire body sang a song he thought he had forgotten.

She pulled away too soon, looked far too tempting with swollen lips and her hair in disarray. But he let her go, slowly, and she didn't seem to want to stop either, but pushed her hair back from her face and stood up.

"Good night," he said, although there were other things on the tip of his tongue.

"Yes." The sly smile and tilt of her head promised he could say them, sometime in the near future. He watched her go and slumped back on the couch, to stare up at the stars.

He woke, again, to find himself with an aching lower back from being stupid enough to fall asleep that way, on the couch. The computer informed him it was nearly alpha shift. Cursing himself, he slowly showered and changed into a uniform, and gimped down to sickbay.

Unfortunately, Beverly was already there. Curse her and her morning-person habits. Although her sympathetic look was vastly preferable to the sniping he'd get if Pulaski were still around.

"What did you do to yourself?"

"Slept on the couch." It had happened occasionally, falling asleep while reading.

She applied the hypo, and it took nearly no time at all to feel better. He stretched and shrugged, working the kinks out. Beverly patted him on the shoulder. "Have you had breakfast yet?"

"Not yet. I'll get something in the ready room."

"Come into my office. I have a big plate of croissants and the replicator makes great coffee."

He followed her, having no real reason not to, and she plunked hot coffee in front of him on the leading edge of her desk and went back around to her chair. "I haven't really talked to you much since I've been back -- guess I dove right back into the fray. Kate told me you got along like Klingons and Romulans."

"I suppose that makes me the Romulan -- she was quite chummy with Worf, taking tea with him." Jean-Luc plucked a croissant from the pile and reached for the jam.

Beverly smiled benignly, and picked up her mug, leaning on her desk. "I have the impression she actually liked you quite a lot. She said she would miss you, but she thought you had someone else on your mind."

He caught himself barely in time, to keep himself from spewing hot coffee at her.

"Okay," Beverly said speculatively. "That scowl appears to prove out. I guess I have some catching up to do? Because there were some changes, clearly, Deanna's seeming less forthcoming than before, and she and Will are definitely less friendly than they were, and Kate was fairly certain there was also something going on between Geordi and someone in operations. But she tends to pretend she has intuition about people."

"Damn it, Beverly," he growled, putting the mug on the desk before he spilled it in his lap.

"I'm having lunch with Deanna today. Just so you know if you don't tell me who she is, I'll find out anyway -- not that I'll tell anyone," she said with a wave of her finger. "You know I can keep things to myself. I know Deanna knows, she has to."

"You don't need to ask her," he exclaimed, with a shade too much indignation.

Beverly stared at him, clearly stricken speechless by that assertion.

He stood up, and couldn't quite look at her. "I'm going to the bridge. Thank you for breakfast."

She didn't say a word when he left, and he was in the lift and obliviously riding toward the bridge when it switched directions and the door opened to admit Will. He stepped in and turned to face the door, hands behind his back.

"Bridge," he said, setting them in motion again. "Good morning, sir."

"Good morning, Number One," he responded automatically.

"Teaching Deanna to ride?"

"She expressed an interest. Are you going to Data's concert, tonight? As I understand it, he's trying a new style."

"I plan on it. Should be good," Will said pleasantly. "Another day of waiting and watching?"

"I doubt the Sheliak will break the contract, but better safe than sorry. We'll be on our way soon enough."

The door opened, and they marched out onto the bridge, as Data came out of the aft turbolift and relieved the ensign at ops. Jean-Luc gave his first officer a look and marched into the ready room.

He stood in the middle of the room and took a deep, deep breath. "Computer. Coffee, please."

"Please specify temperature, roast -- "

"Belay that -- Earl Grey, hot. And a scone, with butter and clotted cream." He went into the alcove to fetch the items, settled at his desk, and brought up the shift logs, to scan them quickly and then move on to whatever the day held in store.

The chime sounded, and it was unsurprisingly Beverly, wearing her blue lab coat and wandering in with her hands in its pockets. She smiled apologetically and sat down. "Once more, without blackmail?"

He sighed and nodded.

"So is it someone on board? I know you don't believe that's appropriate but people change their minds. If she's that important to you...." Her blue eyes narrowed slightly. "It isn't... Deanna?" She must have gotten the answer in the expression on his face. The canny smile came next. 

"Please," was all he could manage.

Her mischief subsided. "Okay," she said softly. "I can talk to her?"

"Of course."

"And no one knows."

"It isn't... not yet, no. Please don't...."

"All right, your secret is safe with me." She got up and tucked her hands back in her coat pockets. "See you later."

Once she was gone, he leaned back and closed his eyes. It would be a long day.


	5. Who Watches the Watchers/The Bonding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No way I'm doing a coda per episode, so I'm skipping ones that don't trigger a need for a coda. I always wondered what happened to Jeremy -- I know there was some novel followup somewhere, but I don't read those and I like making up my own endings.
> 
> It looks a little dire, yes, but there are episodes coming up that require them to be this way, and this was one of the alternate routes I nearly took with C&C but went the other way because that was where they needed to go then. But this is now, and canon is being respected for the time being.

Jean-Luc went to Ten Forward some days for tea, mid-morning, if there weren't any crises in progress or any pressing need to do any of the routine things he did daily right then. Guinan started to put together a pot of tea for him -- he watched her add hot water to the pot and cover it with the insulated pouch, and turn to put a cup on a saucer, ready to receive the tea.

"You've been preoccupied lately," she commented. 

"I have a lot on my mind, yes, and not all of it related to work."

Guinan's mouth twitched. She was more subtle than Deanna sometimes, in how her reactions played out. "Who is she?"

Jean-Luc smiled at that. Of course she wouldn't shy away from it, she wasn't one of his subordinates. Beverly had obviously spoken to Deanna but was being respectful of his privacy, not even looking at him with amusement or the smugness of someone hiding something. Deanna had been over twice more, and he continued to beat back the anxiety -- struggling against decades of habitual determined focus, keeping his thoughts from straying to fantasies about crew in the resolute conviction that it was the only way to avoid untoward entanglements with female subordinates completely, was proving to be more of an obstacle than he'd thought. 

"Jean-Luc," Guinan said quietly. He looked up from the counter's gleaming surface -- she was staring at him with concern in her dark eyes.

"Have you ever had to work against yourself, for something you wanted so much you were willing to rewrite your entire life?"

A smile flitted along her lips. "A long time ago. You really like this woman."

"Well."

"If it's so difficult why are you trying?"

He shot a glare at her as he picked up the steaming cup she shoved across the counter. At the sound of the door to Ten Forward, he glanced over as he sipped -- Worf and Jeremy Aster entered the room, went to a corner, and sat together. Guinan excused herself and went to talk to them, returned to the bar, and took taller mugs of something back to the pair. No one else was around at the moment, which was unusual.

"Jeremy appears to be doing better," Guinan commented as she returned to her spot on the other side of the bar, facing him.

"Counselor Troi has been working with him, and his mother's friends are spending time with him as well."

"What will happen to him now?" Guinan tucked her hands into the sleeves of her voluminous robe. 

"I contacted Starfleet. Foster care aboard the ship was considered, at Counselor Troi's suggestion, and then we spoke to Jeremy's closest living relatives, his father's sister -- after the counselor is satisfied that he's able without further trauma, we're going to connect with his aunt and arrange to meet her at a starbase, so she can take him home with her."

"Sounds like a good plan. You've been quite sympathetic to his situation -- a lot of starship captains might have a different take on it, want to send the orphan along to his family without delay to avoid being burdened with a child for whom you bear no legal obligation."

"Deanna was insistent that we consider the ramifications of more loss -- Worf has a bond with the boy. Jeremy benefitted from that. Tearing him away suddenly is counterproductive."

Guinan picked up the pot, held it up, and he extended his cup to accept the refill. "A reasonable assessment."

He took another sip and settled back a little. "You know my perspective, on relationships, I think."

"I seem to recall we discussed that before, yes." It had been a frustrating conversation, actually. 

"I think I'm having difficulty convincing myself. I think it might be forcing me to a choice, between career and...."

"Love," Guinan finished for him. "Sounds like a conversation to have with her."

"I know, I know, trust me, but -- "

"That," Guinan said with a hint of a smile. "There's some irony in that, somewhere, I think. Not being able to talk to someone you can spend hours talking to, about anything."

He eyed her suspiciously. He hadn't said anything to Guinan, and it hadn't appeared that she had noticed anything between he and Deanna, but he wouldn't be surprised if she knew. Guinan tended to know things.

"Stop drinking tea. Go talk to her," Guinan said firmly.

He blinked -- that was an order, from someone who didn't do that. "Guinan?"

The hostess started to wipe down the bar, moving away from him. He watched her for a moment, finished the cup -- it was small -- and left Ten Forward with a nod to Worf as he passed the Klingon and his adopted little brother.

"Computer, location of Counselor Troi," he said in the lift, riding toward deck three.

"Counselor Troi is in her office."

He balked, internally, for a moment. The door opened, and the empty corridor outside Deanna's office beckoned. He pulled himself out of the lift using determination and hope.

The door opened before he could touch the panel to ask for admittance, and she stood there looking at him with complete understanding written all over her face. But she said "Captain, come in," with all the pleasant formality of Counselor Troi, waved her hand and stepped out of his way. 

"I'm sorry to bother you," he said -- every bit the captain. He sat on the sofa with her, folded his hands, and lost his voice again. 

"Would you like something to drink?" There was a hint of faint reproach in that, he thought.

"I'd like to apologize," he said softly, letting his gaze drift down until he was looking at a patch of floor instead of her face. "I've been wanting to do something that I'm sure you see is giving me a great deal of difficulty."

"You should go," she said, very softly, almost inaudibly. 

He sat open-mouthed for a moment. "I can't, I can't do that," he said at last. "I don't want to do that."

"I know. But I think you also know that it's not going to be possible to live this way, constantly divided against yourself, and that I can tell -- I don't see that it's fair to either of us to labor on expecting this to change, forever. I want to help you resolve it but I can't," she said, her voice starting to crack and waver. "I want so, so much to be able to -- I know how you feel, you know I feel the same, but I also know that this will start to interfere in our professional relationship soon if the conflict in you isn't resolved because you're already thinking about it too much -- it's becoming distracting, Captain."

He closed his eyes against it, wanted something to punch, and found himself making fists as if he could do that. 

"And I'm conflicted too," she said. Hell, to hear the tears in her voice. "I can't choose to leave. I feel so much, I know there's so much potential for us -- I can't do it, can't just break it off, and then I know that I can't stay with someone who's unable to work this out with me so he can be at peace with himself while he's with me. I don't want to lose any part of you, Jean-Luc. I want my captain, I want my friend, and I want more, but I know I'll lose all of it if the stalemate continues."

Jean-Luc wanted to hold her, and the words were on the tip of his tongue -- he wanted to say it, to her, and yet -- it was like facing the damage done on Mintaka, impossible to resolve in a manner that preserved the Prime Directive. The contamination of a culture had been the end result of a glitch in technology -- the observing scientists had needed extraction, the Mintakans had discovered them, and Dr. Crusher had been unable to wipe their memories -- there was still an ache deep in his shoulder from the arrow he'd taken, to prove his mortality and stop being their deity. 

If only it could be so simple, this conflict he couldn't resolve and simply be with Deanna -- if he could take a hundred arrows to the chest and do away with the deeply-rooted anxiety about their careers. He had, as of late, been thinking about her more and more -- but as a Starfleet officer involved with her captain. He remembered a court-martial, of someone he knew, having been embroiled in an affair -- in the end it hadn't turned out to be part of the larger problem, there had been no real conflict of interest and the matter had come to a verdict that led to the man being stripped of rank and discharged. He wondered what had happened to the woman. Remembered what was said, by the officers involved, in passing, and a great agony rose up in him at the thought of such things being said about Deanna, about how much scrutiny and slander she might be subjected to, if -- 

The great wall of anxiety, the if. What torment. And then meanwhile, despite his staunch determination to ignore the hell out of the glimpses of the personal lives of his crew all around him, he knew, because Will kept showing up in Ten Forward with them, that his first officer still lavished attention on the ladies of the Enterprise. 

Hypocrite, the angry part of him that watched that go on said -- although there was that deeper feeling that said this was not the same, that he was not intending to throw Deanna away and move on to someone else, the nature of the internal war he waged was proof of that. 

"Stalemate," he said at last.

"You should go," she said brokenly. Then, after a lengthy pause. "Captain."

"I'll see you on the bridge, Counselor," he said with an ease that shocked him -- it was that ingrained in him, that professional relationship they had was that automatic, and he hoped even as he ached to take it back, stop, apologize, mend it, that they would still be friends.

"Thank you, sir," she said. 

He took the risk, glanced at her, and found himself smiling through tears even as she was. "Thank you, and -- "

When nothing else came she nodded. "I know. You know. As you were."

Rising, tugging the jacket straight, leaving the room -- he got into the lift before he exhaled, a long, shuddering groan escaping, as he almost fell against the wall.

"Please state destination," the computer said.

"Bridge," he supplied automatically, though the more accurate term would have been hell.


	6. The Price

"Are you disappointed that we won't be able to visit the Delta Quadrant any time soon?"

Jean-Luc sighed, at that. He turned from his unseeing contemplation of the viewport, to look across the desk at Riker. "There's plenty of galaxy left, you know."

"I'm a little disappointed in how it all played out," Will said, lounging in the standard issue chair that Jean-Luc had always assumed was made to keep people upright and at attention. It didn't appear to be working today.

"She confronted Ral's duplicity. A con man has been held accountable. Perhaps the revelation might have been made earlier, but it was made."

Will frowned, seemed about to say something, but merely shook his head.

"Will?"

"Nothing. I know you don't involve yourself in the personal affairs of subordinates, sir," he said, with an undertone of unhappiness. 

"I don't, no. Was there some personal involvement with Goss, or Ral, or Bhavani, of which I am unaware?"

"I'm not entirely certain of that myself. I admit that I was a little concerned, but I knew Deanna would see through him eventually. She's quite perceptive in many ways."

Jean-Luc raised his eyebrows at that. "You've lost me. Are you saying you knew he was being duplicitous before she did?"

Now Will crossed his arms as he sat up and resettled in a leftward-leaning lounge. He chewed his lower lip, briefly. "I had reason to think he had... intentions toward her."

"They were speaking to each other a number of times over the past few days, but I'm not sure I would call that evidence of anything -- she spoke to nearly everyone involved." In fact, he had picked up on Ral's interest in her, and had been upset to see that it appeared to be mutual, but after noticing that, Jean-Luc had resolutely set it out of his mind and turned his attention to other things for the duration. Regardless of the misery he tried to set aside, he knew he had to let her go.

"Well... he confronted me, taunted me that he had stolen her heart from me. I think he was trying to get me so worked up that I couldn't focus on what I was doing, to get the advantage in the negotiations. It didn't work, of course. I want Deanna to be happy -- I'm her friend, despite whatever it was Ral thought, and if she wanted to be with him that would be fine with me. I'm not even sure how he knew I'd ever been involved with her."

Jean-Luc frowned, suddenly caught up in anxiety whether he wanted to be or not. This wasn't what he expected, somehow. He realized that some part of him had always assumed Will still had feelings for her, just from observing how close they appeared to be, and in addition to that revelation it was anxiety-provoking, to think that Deanna might have actually -- he forced his attention back to what was being said. It was the only way he was managing, focus on the person in front of him.

"I know him taunting me that way doesn't mean he was telling me the truth," Will was saying. "And honestly it would bother me -- he's an arrogant little crook. Deanna deserves better than that. I'm glad he's gone."

"The two of you have been friends for a long time," Jean-Luc said, not even certain why he was saying it -- thinking out loud, perhaps. That puzzled Will, put a deep crease in his forehead. 

"Just since we've been aboard -- I was pretty nervous, actually, finding out she was here on the Enterprise, but it's been a good thing. You don't always get a chance to be friends with someone you've broken up with."

Jean-Luc found himself in a quandary, of whether to keep this conversation going or not, and as often happened, saying nothing led to resolving the issue. 

"I should go down to Ten Forward and put in an appearance," Will said after a moment. "Lieutenant Forbes is having a birthday party."

"Give him my best regards," Jean-Luc said almost automatically, despite not remembering who that was.

Will grinned. "I'll tell her that, sir."

"Will...."

His first officer hesitated, after rising and taking a step and starting to turn for the door. 

"Do you think I'm overcompensating, going overboard, with the distance I keep from the rest of the crew?"

"Honestly? I think you have, but sometimes... you went to Jeremy Aster on your own, when you could have delegated that, and I can say that you consider the senior staff to be your friends. I know you like to stay to yourself, and don't approve of relationships with subordinates."

Jean-Luc shook his head. "I don't expect perfection, you know. That's overstating -- what I don't approve of are poor boundaries, leading to poor performance. I'm not unaware that crew have relationships with each other, you know."

Will nodded. "So if an officer completely abstains from making friends with his subordinates, is he protecting himself, or the subordinates?"

Jean-Luc snorted at that. "That trick got old the first time Abernathy used it."

Will's smirk matched his, and he dropped back into the chair, sitting forward now. "I sometimes wonder why I'm going."

"Starfleet believes the opinions of counselors matter. I think they do, as well, but I'm not certain I believe that Abernathy's is valid."

"Deanna tells me that he's proficient, but I wonder if he's still in the initial, settling in phase and not quite sure of himself in this environment. She could tell us but she won't unless it's really having an impact on his work."

"That would be the magic trick -- having a way of knowing precisely when you've crossed a line, before it becomes a disaster. Without that a lot of officers don't let themselves get started down the path."

Will's head tilted as if he were listening carefully to something. At length, he said, "So what happened that led you to the extreme of doing your best to avoid conflict of interest by not making friends?"

Jean-Luc took his time, with that one -- first to decide whether to answer or not, and then to find a way to say it. "I had a lot of friends, for a long time. My best friend died because I was torn between two individuals when I could only save one. I defaulted to the first one that I could get to, and Jack died. And then I spent too much time off, thinking about all the things that could have been done differently. When the court-martial was all done, and I was on extended leave, I decided that it wouldn't happen again."

Will considered that seriously. "You're not doing a very good job, of preventing it."

A deep, deep sigh. "I suppose not. But part of that was all the lecturing I got from the damned counselor, about being so isolated."

"And then she got under your skin," Will said.

They stared at each other across the desk for a while. The tension thrummed in the silence.

"When you don't associate with anyone, and then you start to really focus on one person, it's really noticeable, you know," Will said at last. 

It was difficult not to tense up, or jump up. Jean-Luc put a lot of effort into breathing for another small eternity. 

Then Will moved, popping up to his feet. "I make friends, but I don't always get that close. I know what kind of reputation I have, but that's fine, I don't care. I know Deanna thinks I'm careless -- but it's her focus, looking at relationships with a perspective of functionality and with a slant of protecting Starfleet's interests. She was all over me not too long ago -- I looked up a list of the people that I've spent time with, since I've been aboard. Three of them transferred and two of those were promotional transfers. I went on down and asked some of the women I've had the occasional interlude with if there were any hard feelings -- I really didn't get a lot of confirmation that there's a problem, and I encouraged them to go to Counselor Troi if they had any problems, and Yates asked me if I was having problems. The psychologists are right, you know -- counselors really shouldn't be working with people they've been intimate with, because it completely skews their perspective."

Jean-Luc heaved another great sigh. "Wouldn't it make sense, then, that a commanding officer should also avoid intimate relationships with subordinates?"

Will smirked as if he'd just found the winning move in a chess game. "If Starfleet really believed it would work, having isolated COs, they'd put the computer in charge. How much leeway have they given starship captains over the years? I seem to recall entire ships going AWOL just to rescue a single officer -- didn't Kirk do that a few times? And didn't his crew go to tremendous lengths to get him back, when everything said that wasn't possible? You wanted to make the case against genetic engineering, you can't force anyone to be the perfect officer either. It gets messy, we sometimes color outside the lines and deal with the fallout, like we did on Mintaka."

Jean-Luc found himself nodding. "I don't doubt that Starfleet is forgiving. I'm also not making a blanket statement -- it's clear to me where you stand on the matter. But it's unclear to me, whether you're thinking all the way through to the end that comes when the court-martial is in progress and people are making assumptions, and careers end because officers make compromises and pay the price."

Will shrugged dramatically. "Life's a gamble, you play once. I try to play smart. But a certain counselor told me once that balance is better, and deprivation leads to impulsive decision-making when you overcompensate in the other direction."

"That sounds like Deanna, all right," Jean-Luc agreed.

"I'll tell the lieutenant you said happy birthday." Will strolled toward the door. "You might want to work on that anxiety, or fix the crystal ball, sounds broken." He was gone and the doors closing by the time Jean-Luc recovered from the shock. Sighing, he mulled over the conversation for a bit.

It was, he suspected, a sign that his senior officers were talking behind his back that Beverly called him down to sickbay not long after he tried to read, to distract himself from the deadly boring part of bridge duty, sitting in the ready room while the ship traveled to the next assignment. He arrived to find the chief medical officer looking very serious indeed, but when she escorted him into her office he started to question her motives again.

"I'm having an issue with something I hope you'll help me resolve," she said, sitting with him on the guest's side of her desk and turning her chair to face him.

"Is Wesley all right?"

That actually made her shift gears for a few seconds, but she was determined. "I need to know that you're all right."

He blinked at her, bemused, or at least trying to project it.

"Jean-Luc," she began, frustrated. Then inhaled, and started again. "Just a month and a half ago, you were spending time with Deanna. She was happy. And then she wasn't happy, and trying very hard to hide how unhappy she was, and you -- I thought you were just starting to thaw out after all this time. And you're back to hiding and keeping yourself either buried in a book or spending all your time with Data, who wouldn't notice you were upset unless you started bawling like a baby -- which probably isn't going to happen any time soon, but those of us who know you and can read your micro-expressions know you aren't happy either."

He wanted to do several things, and simply sat there and waited. It was fast becoming his favorite tactic. Then he noticed his least favorite -- Beverly's eyes were glittering and her expression melting.

"She's not doing well," Beverly went on, blinking away the tears. "She's been irritable, doesn't want to do anything she used to enjoy doing -- she's making incredibly impulsive decisions, and I encouraged her for a while because I thought it would help her get it out of her system, but she's locked herself in her quarters and took the day off and won't let anyone in."

Jean-Luc had started to fume at where this was going. Fuming and being exasperated were a better option than the resurgence of the ongoing heartache that started, upon hearing that she was suffering. Not that he'd assumed she wasn't, it simply angered him to have it confirmed, all over again. 

"Leave her alone."

Beverly leaped out of her chair. "Captain," she exclaimed.

"Oh, no, you need to -- "

"LISTEN to me, you pigheaded man," Beverly almost shouted over his words. "Your feared outcome, your bane, it's already true. It's already too late. Your 'folly,'" she made quotation marks in the air with her fingers, "has impaired your ability to make decisions regarding your friends. What little interaction between you has suggested to me that you're still that, at least, but sit back and think about what you would do if I were holing up in my quarters and miserable. Respect my wish to suffer in silence, or be my friend?"

"Then why aren't you being her friend?"

"I tried. She told me she's thinking about leaving. She won't listen to me!"

Jean-Luc shoved his chair back as he leaped up. Anxiety translated to movement, and he was out of her office, out of sickbay, hurtling down the corridors as if there might be a red alert in progress. He walked fast, and then slower, and then rode a lift -- when he left it he proceeded at a normal pace to her door, where he came to a halt. Since he had the corridor to himself, he stood there for a while.

The door opened, and Deanna stood there. "Captain."

"The captain doesn't want you to leave, and neither do I," he said. "Please don't give up."

Her eyes hardened for a few minutes, as tears escaped her already red-rimmed eyes. Then she looked at the floor. 

"I don't suppose we could talk about it inside?"

"Why are you here?"

"Because our idiot friends thought it was a good idea. Because... I thought you might need a friend."

She crossed her arms tightly. She was wearing, it registered at last, a robe -- fluffy, pink. "I tend to do stupid things when I -- it was ridiculous," she exclaimed, running the cuff of one sleeve down her face. "I could have compromised the mission. I would have said something sooner -- no," she exclaimed, holding out her hands as if the step he took toward her were a substantial threat. "I've done it again. Almost compromised the mission, because I let myself -- let feelings run away with my sense. You were right, I understand it now, you were absolutely right that I can't mix love and duty, I can't trust myself to balance. I can't talk to you right now because it's too soon. I would probably try to -- I can't, don't you understand?"

He nodded slowly, because agreeing with the distraught woman was what he needed to do right now. "You didn't compromise anything. You did the right thing, in the end. That's what matters. It's a learning process, and you've already learned, faster than I...."

But she was turning away, not really listening. "Thank you for stopping by. I'll see you tomorrow."

He stood looking at the closed door for a few moments. It occurred to him that she could tell he was still there, just as she had known to open the door, and so he turned and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. It had to be twenty minutes or so, that he stood there in the empty corridor looking at his toes.

The door opened. She stepped out and gave him a wry look, that combined with the red eyes and tired face resulted in someone who didn't look much like his composed counselor. "I can sense you just as well if you're in your quarters. They're right down there, you know."

"I wouldn't want to be accused of abandoning a friend. I'm afraid of Beverly."

"I'll tell her you cuddled with me for three hours if you'll go home."

He smiled at that. "All right. I suppose I can miss you just as well from there."

She closed her eyes and hung her head, at that.

"Sorry."

"I know. So am I. I'm going to take a sedative and go to bed."

"See you tomorrow?"

Deanna nodded, and went back inside. 

The following morning, she arrived on time for their scheduled meeting in the ready room. He was surprised that she wasn't far from the counselor he'd worked with all this time, despite the continued weariness in her face. After she concluded her assessment of crew morale and let him know that performance reviews for the quarter were done, she smiled with a little more emotion than before.

"Thank you, for coming to see me yesterday. It helps to have perspective."

All he could do was nod, as there was suddenly a lump in his throat. She teared up a little, no doubt responding to what she sensed, and nodded, then left the ready room without a word.


	7. The High Ground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've done some little summaries for myself to remind myself what the episodes are about. Here's the next handful -- you can see why I'm having a little difficulty weaving some of this into the story line in progress. I'd forgotten there were so many episodes in Season three that I was not particularly enthused about. I like Q, of course, and the scene where Data is critiquing Jean-Luc's painting is priceless. It starts to get really good at the end of the season -- so it's looking like I'm going to skip quite a few episodes. 
> 
> Skipping the Vengeance Factor and The Defector - straightforward episodes of solving the mystery and saving the day. Hardly any character development, just good old Star Trek teamwork.
> 
> The Hunted - classic Trek treatment of how veterans are treated like crap. James Cromwell is one of the many Trek aliens he's been, prior to being Zefram Cochrane. Again, not a ton of character development. Roga causes much pain before Troi figures out it's not really his fault. They persuade the gov'ment to help the war vets rather than throw them away. 
> 
> The High Ground - classic Trek treatment of terrorism vs. "just" war. Beverly gets kidnapped to treat people dying from their funky dimension folder transporter they use for terrorist stuff, Jean-Luc is kidnapped and chained up in her dungeon, and right after she busts out one of her "I have something I've been meaning to tell you"s they get rescued. And there we start.

Jean-Luc entered Ten Forward and saw Beverly sitting with Deanna at a table along the viewports, half across the room from a large group of people gathered around the piano, where some ensign was playing and several others singing at a rather subdued volume, for a sing-a-long. He went to the bar, to an empty seat, and as Guinan wasn't present, Niall went about getting his order with a smile. He turned with the glass and noticed Beverly looking his way -- she waved, beckoning, and he went to their table.

He'd only seen Deanna on duty for the past weeks, throughout the past several missions -- she had been helpful but not participated in away missions, or spent much time on the bridge. Tonight she looked relaxed, happy, in a comfortable-looking turquoise dress with her hair arranged over her shoulders. Her forearms in front of her on the edge of the table, hands to elbows, she smiled up at him as he approached.

"Good evening," he said with a slight, polite smile. "How are you ladies tonight?"

Deanna's eyes went to Beverly at once. Beverly had the preoccupied, nervous look she usually had, after one of "those" missions. He turned and pulled around a chair to join them.

"We're fine, Captain," Beverly said coolly. "How are you?"

"It's nice to have the manacles off."

Deanna's eyes were dubious, but her tone was her standard pleasant usual. "Beverly was just telling me about your adventure. It sounds terrifying."

"It definitely wasn't one of those situations that we could talk our way out of," Jean-Luc said darkly. He took a sip of the ale, and glanced toward the singers as they collectively hit multiple sour notes and everyone started to laugh. "I finished reviewing all the logs -- everyone performed admirably, and there were some commendations to make, unfortunately some were posthumous."

Deanna's eyes started to acquire that wounded look that usually accompanied thoughts of painful situations. "I knew you were all right. But that doesn't stop the worry. Beverly was just telling me about Finn."

"Yes, Finn the terrorist, who knows how to play on the sympathies of -- "

"He was different," Beverly insisted, eyes flashing. "You didn't even spend any time talking to him. How is it that you can spend weeks negotiating with some hostile species, yet one man representing an oppressed group of people isn't worth your time?"

Jean-Luc moaned a little, putting his drink on the table and crossing his arms. "There is a difference -- we talk with those who will talk. We defend against those who try to kill us. Beverly, the man put a bomb on our warp drive. He refused to have a conversation with anyone. He would have killed a thousand people who aren't even part of his conflict!"

Beverly shook her head and even flared her nostrils, and drained her drink. She stood and stalked out of Ten Forward.

"She'll calm down and gain perspective," Deanna said quietly. "How are you?"

It wasn't hard, sitting there with her. Time and limited exposure had done their work; the pain had diminished to a dull ache. He suspected that could change at a moment's notice, however. For now, though.... "It's been busy. There's been plenty to think about."

Her haunted look lasted but seconds. She smiled sadly at her drink, a tall multicolored concoction. "You aren't comfortable with Abernathy."

"Do you monitor my feelings all the time?" he complained. The pianist started a new tune, and two people started a duet. Something about love and how hard it was to work things out. The paranoid voice in the back of his head thought it might be on purpose. That was, of course, ridiculous.

"Maybe." She picked up her glass to sip. "I'm his supervisor. He reports that he believes you do not trust him, and feels at a loss for what to do as he's attempted to discuss the matter with you and you denied it."

Jean-Luc caught himself before he responded with volume, and took a moment to compose himself. "He doesn't understand command. He doesn't understand me, I don't have time -- "

"You do," she shot back, starting to glare at him. "Jean-Luc, it's a relationship -- it may not be the same as the one we had but that's because it's a new therapist. You have to give it a chance to develop."

That put a tangle of pain in his chest. He clenched his jaw, his head twitched left away from her, and he tried to put it down again, but it wasn't going.

"You miss me," she said softly with incredible pathos. "I know. I'm sorry."

"How is your mother?" It was the one thing that wasn't related to them, or the ship, or anyone else on it, that he could think of in the middle of trying to breathe and stop hurting.

"She's on Shiralea VI, enjoying the mud baths."

"Mud?"

"The Parallax Colony is one of her favorite places. The people there are devoted to pleasure."

He hummed a little, thinking about how different that was, from where they'd just been. "I don't believe I've been there."

"Well, it's unlikely that you'll run into Mother unless we're on the same mission, then -- she explores pleasure planets only, when she's not a diplomat. Your explorations clearly have a different, more masochistic theme."

"You seem to enjoy our adventures, for the most part."

"It's not the same sort of enjoyment. I think satisfaction is a better term. We make a difference. Not always consistently successful in finding the best possible outcome, perhaps, but we are doing work that needs to be done." Deanna was more the happy woman he usually saw on the bridge at the moment, with a smile in her voice. "There are plenty of things that I enjoy, that I do between missions -- the holodeck has a fine program featuring hot springs, mud baths, and other sensory delights. I'm particularly fond of massages."

"I can't say that I've ever had a massage."

"I put myself through college, being a masseuse. I get a massage any time I can spare an hour."

He thought she must time those revelations, it was not the first time he was trying to drink when she was speaking, and then trying not to choke. Swallowing, he blinked at her. "You're a masseuse?"

"Why would I take Mother's money when she didn't want me to work at all? Sometimes I think she had me just so we could wander around enjoying mud baths with her for the rest of her lives. I took the certification course first, then started college and arranged client appointments around my classes. I lived on Betazed and the resort was walking distance from the university, it was that or be a barista. When I could start doing hours as an intern therapist, I stopped being a masseuse."

"That must have made you popular in the dorms at the Academy," he said with a smirk.

"You're the only person in Starfleet who knows that about me. Use the information wisely."

He grinned at her. "I'm now trying to envision an occasion that I might pull that one out on the bridge."

"There's certainly never going to be a spatial anomaly that would require a deep tissue massage, you know. You also don't get to offer me up to Romulan commanders before you talk to them."

"Pity, they certainly need to relax. The uniform looks terribly uncomfortable, as well."

"Hi," Will said, from Jean-Luc's left shoulder. He turned, looking up, and up, at his first officer. Deanna seemed a little startled - that was a first.

"Will," Jean-Luc acknowledged. He glanced back and forth -- no one appeared to be with Will. He was, however, holding his trombone.

"Having a late mission briefing?" Riker's lazy smile said he knew better.

"She was just telling me where her mother is, so we can be sure to only accept missions that are at the other side of the quadrant from Shiralea. You appear to be here to rehearse." Jean-Luc gestured at the instrument.

"Yep, the quartet gets together every week, unless there's an intense mission. See you later." Will winked at Deanna and went off to join the pianist, and another man with a trumpet. The door opened again, to admit the drummer pushing an antigrav cart with the drum set on it.

Jean-Luc frowned and reached for his glass. He contemplated a refill, noting it was nearly empty, but decided not to. He felt weary, and the beginnings of a headache had settled in his temples.

"Walk me home? I really don't think I could stand listening to them blow their horns at each other for very long." Deanna stood, leaving half the melting drink behind. Already the trumpet was engaging in a playful arpeggio battle with Will.

Once they were out in the corridor, headed away from Ten Forward, Jean-Luc kept himself slowly walking forward and not looking at her.

"What did you tell Will?" she asked out of the blue.

He halted about ten paces from the lift and turned to stare at her. Unfortunately, four people emerged from the doors -- he started walking again out of reflex and she followed him into the empty lift. "Deck seven."

She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall of the car. "Well?"

"Nothing at all." Then as he replayed the tense moments in the ready room, weeks ago, he said, "I thought you had told him about us. Or that he'd noticed something, but I wasn't sure what that might be."

"He was looking for me, a couple of times, and the computer told him I was in your quarters. He develops hunches about things. He probably tested you, sounded like he knew and waited for you to confirm that."

"Well, it looks like he's still got the hunch. He talked to you?"

"A long time ago, but it didn't get him anywhere. I'm very good at deflection. And then he tried to talk to me again after Devonni Ral left the ship, because -- he wanted to know if Ral was just using information about him or if there had really been a relationship there." She was blushing, and staring at the floor. "I wish I could just forget that period of time."

"You haven't told him we're not...."

"I never told him we were. I haven't said a word about any of this. I don't plan to, either."

They left the lift on deck seven. "Come talk to me," he said, as they slowed in front of her door, three doors down from the lift. When she looked askance at him, he added, "I miss talking to you. It's actually helped, talking to you."

She sighed audibly and gave him a disbelieving look.

"I think I was making things more difficult than they had to be," he said. "I think -- "

Her expression changed, to guarded but speculative. "Has something changed?"

"Come talk to me," he repeated, with a whiff of pleading in his voice. He really didn't want to order her.

"All right. Let me change into something else. Is there wine?"

"There can be, yes. But I think we need to talk first."

As she turned and went in her quarters he set off for his. He reached the door as Beverly approached from the other direction, coming into view around the curve of the corridor. She was walking while hugging herself -- clearly thinking about something.

"Something wrong?" he asked, coming to a halt as she reached him.

"Do you have a moment?"

He glanced over his shoulder and turned to enter his quarters, waving her in. "I'm sorry I was abrupt -- "

"Jean-Luc," she murmured, wandering in to stop and stand there protecting her stomach with her arms. "I wanted to talk to you about something else. I think I need to say something to you."

"Deanna's on her way down here, by the way." As awkward as that was, he thought it was better than Deanna walking into the middle of whatever Beverly was trying to say -- a hunch.

Beverly's lips tightened slightly. "When we were in the cave, I realized that I didn't want to let things lie, any longer, and it's still true despite not being in imminent peril. I know there's been a strange... tension between us, during our time on the Enterprise. It's even stranger because there have been times that -- it's difficult to describe, but Deanna senses it, and comments sometimes as if there is something between us that hasn't been there. Except there is something. Because I felt it before, maybe a little different, a little stronger, when you and Jack were serving together."

"You mean when I was in love with you," he said.

She staggered back a step, eyes wide. "Jean-Luc!"

"Tension, yes. It was startling to find you were interested in the position here -- I admit that I wondered, if there might be anything left. If things had changed, if you were different, or interested. It's never gone anywhere, though, has it?"

"I'd say things have changed a lot, actually," she said with a smile. It shifted, from delight to mischief. "I knew Deanna would be good for you."

He ignored the comment, where he might have reacted with embarrassment -- which perhaps proved the statement -- and went across to his desk to delve behind it for a bottle of wine. There were two left on the bottom shelf. The corkscrew lay on the third shelf between the Gorlan prayer stick and a clay pot from Seldonis Prime.

"Oh, I see why a short, to-the-point conversation might be preferable now," Beverly commented. She had transitioned from somber to smiling in a few sentences. "Are we still having breakfast?"

"Of course," he exclaimed. "Were you going to confess anything else?"

It caught her off guard, left her open-mouthed for a few seconds. She gave her head a quick shake as if not quite sure what to make of it. "I guess not. Well... I actually felt for a while that it might go somewhere, if you must know. If I said something, but... it just didn't feel right."

The chime startled both of them, but Beverly was the one who actually flinched. "Come," he said at once, turning toward the door with the wine in one hand and the corkscrew in the other. Deanna hadn't changed out of the dress or visibly changed anything at all, and so he suspected that she'd known Beverly was cruising to talk to him, probably also sensed that the heavy part of the conversation was over and she could join them.

"This is not the Zinfandel," he announced, as if it were a matter of great seriousness.

"Oh, well, I'm leaving -- there has to be someone with Zinfandel somewhere aboard," she remarked. She went to sit on the couch and looked quite comfortable and calm.

"There's a good book waiting for me, so I'll be on my way. See you in the morning," Beverly said, shooting him a look and departing at a faster-than-casual clip.

Deanna watched him put the wine on the table and sit across it from her, in one of the two chairs. "She was trying to work up to talking about that for a while," she commented.

"If I had thought about it, I might have arrived at knowing you sensed all that -- what was between she and I, before."

"Sexual tension, angst, and wishful thinking? Yes. But you weren't in love with her, and she has little actual interest in you -- friends, yes. It's good to see you're talking more openly with each other than you were. Are you still having breakfast with her?"

Something he hadn't realized was there loosened, upon hearing Deanna acknowledging this so openly, without concern. "Once a week, usually, unless things are going to hell. I think she started inviting me because she was worried about me, after you and I -- stopped." Which brought him to the precipice. So he leaped. "The past few months I've mostly focused on work, but I've done a lot of thinking -- I realized finally that I've been trapped in the past."

She hadn't expected that conclusion, and settled back against the couch, pulling a throw pillow over to stuff behind her lower back. The angle of the couch was sometimes a little relaxed for sitting on.

"I fell in love with my best friend's wife," he said, with as little volume or emotion as he could. "I spent years pushing it down and ignoring the hell out of it, and when he died I felt so guilty that even after more than a year had passed, the thought of saying anything to her, approaching her, filled me with anguish. I hardly spoke to her -- another thing I regret, because she lost her husband and then when she needed support their good friend couldn't muster the resolve to be there for her, because of the shame and the lingering feelings of attraction...."

Understanding flooded her eyes, and sympathy. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

"I think that's how I've been handling my emotions now, almost out of habit -- as if something in me decided they were inappropriate and I couldn't have them. Of course the professional concerns were also there, but... I think it was more than that. And then I also realized that I had a -- I suppose some sort of unconscious assumption, that Will still felt something for you, even though he's obviously seeing other women. Because you spend time together as friends and you're obviously fond of each other, and there's this expectation that people of opposing genders can't be such close friends without anything more -- it's part of why many commanding officers are so careful. Friendliness can be easily misconstrued. Actually, I think it's part of the reason there are counselors aboard ships, now. Sort out such things before they become courts-martial and restore working relationships." He paused, to word it properly. "And then you were bothered by his behavior, with other women. It wasn't a conscious assumption, but it did occur to me after I realized my assumption about Will that it would be easy to view your frustration as being personal, rather than professional. He's dismissive of your views -- I know that the truth has to be somewhere between the two, that you act on what you sense from the women who are likely sometimes your clients discussing their anguish, and he hears their words to him as honest representations of the truth, without considering that they might be downplaying and minimizing in order to restore their working relationship with him and get back to business, and avoid conflict and drama."

"You really have thought about this," she said with a happy, proud little smile. "I'm impressed."

"Actually... I imagined I was in your office, talking to you about it. And I had this insightful conversation with you, while you asked all the usual open-ended questions you always ask your clients, and I was right -- I still need Counselor Troi. Sorry, I just can't get used to Abernathy. I think it's the baritone, with the rasp that sounds like he's been smoking since he was three years old."

Deanna laughed -- immediately he felt light-bodied and his heart sang the way it did when he'd kissed her, before, and all because she was that happy and it meant everything would be all right again. She was shaking her head, her dimples present and accounted for, and clasping her hands in her lap as she subsided.

"I suppose all this thinking also answers the question of why you haven't shied away from having breakfast with Beverly, or letting her clear the air with you finally. You came to some conclusions about that as well."

Jean-Luc took a moment to appreciate that Deanna was both a very good actress, and a very good secret-keeper. "It helped to make it a very short conversation."

She nodded, some of her hair sliding forward along her shoulders. She swept it back again with an unconscious two-handed gesture and glanced down at the wine. So he leaned forward to retrieve it and start to open it.

"Why are you so upset about what happened with Ral?" he asked, almost wishing he hadn't the instant her face fell.

"It was -- horrible. Because I've always worked so hard, to have more stability and control than that -- I've always had to overcompensate, in a way, because it's been so easy for me to feel overwhelmed by the emotions of others. Ral was so undisciplined and so -- immediately attracted to me, and I -- " She looked at the ceiling for a moment, wringing her hands, the tears finally spilling over her eyelashes. "I missed you so much! I fell into his desires so fast, and let myself be consumed by it, because it completely obliterated the despair. I even remember having a thought that this would end badly, that the mission might be impacted, but it all went away the minute he touched me. It was -- incredible. Two empaths echoing strong emotions at each other that way. I'm so sorry, I didn't -- "

Deanna was gone, wailing with her hands over her face, and he abandoned the wine to come to her without a thought, to hold her and let her grab his uniform in her fists, ignoring little tugs of chest hair while she sobbed. Thankfully it was brief -- within a minute or two she was pulling away, and he rubbed her back while she started to breathe without gulping and hiccuping.

"You're hardly the first person who's ever done something like that, you know," he murmured.

"I know," she said brokenly, glancing at him with an abashed smile that said she wasn't letting herself off the hook that easily. "But -- "

"But?"

"The thing between you and Beverly," she said, unexpectedly. "The thing I've sensed for so long. That was potential, sexual tension that's pushed away, sublimated. It also existed, between Will and I, and unlike you, Will sometimes... wavers. He thinks about approaching me again. And then he backs off, because when he does, I can sense it and I refuse to respond to it with anything but the friendship we have. Ral sensed there was something, in Will's feelings for me at the time, and said something and I had to explain to him that I'd been with Will, long ago. Will said he used it to try to manipulate the negotiations by upsetting him."

"Because that's what an unethical empath does, of course." And a moment later the rest of it registered. "You think I didn't waver?"

"It's a matter of degree. Have you ever tried to talk to her about your feelings, since we came aboard?"

"I'd decided that the past should be in the past. And then I started to realize how much I enjoyed talking to you."

Deanna sighed, and couldn't seem to look him in the eye. "I probably look terrible. I should go wash my face, it would feel better, too. I'll be right back." Touching his knee, she stood and moved away.

When she started for the exit, he said, "Use mine," and pointed at the bedroom door, thinking about her walking away from his quarters appearing distressed, and the possibility of that being misconstrued. She hesitated, but changed course and went through the door he indicated.

He had the wine open by the time she returned, and poured -- he held up a glass, which she took as she came back to sit with him again. Her face was less swollen and her eyes less red, but the makeup was all gone as well. He hadn't thought about that, and realized it had to be why she'd been heading for her quarters instead. His noticing that was not unnoticed by her; she gave him another embarrassed smile.

"You didn't want to use my makeup?"

A bit of a bemused look, followed by a grin. "I didn't like the palette -- I think your lipstick is too pale for me, and the eye liner is the wrong shade."

He chuckled, more because he was relieved and hopeful now, and happy with the outcome of the talk he'd anticipated with high anxiety. But that was another thing he'd decided needed addressing -- Will had been right, he'd decided, that the anxiety was actually the obstacle. There were a hundred little decisions every day, he'd realized, and letting them be swayed by possible futures was irrational.

"What are you thinking?" she asked, taking his hand while holding the wine in her left.

"About the benefits of evolution."

Her eyes laughed, and the dimples returned. She raised her glass. "To evolution."

"Yes." They took a sip together, and he nodded. "Not as good as the Zinfandel. But passable."

"Are you going to Geordi's birthday party? That's why Will is practicing so much. It's next week."

"Some of my favorite people will be there, why not?" He contemplated, but she was giving him a knowing, skeptical look.

"I'm not going to be your date," she said. "It's far too soon for public declarations, and if you're going to make me do it, I'll protect the captain from himself."

"You're right, of course. And -- " It became another knot in his chest. The mention of public declarations had reminded him that there hadn't been one in private, either.

"Jean-Luc?"

The knot worked loose again, and he smiled and put the wine on the table. "I almost forgot. I have something else to tell you."

"Okay," she said, tentatively, and putting her own glass next to his to fold her hands on her lap and listen.

"I love you."

"Oh," she exclaimed, beaming happily. There was movement, on both their parts, and they came together confidently -- it was one of those rare kisses in which he lost himself for a while, feeling too much joy and happiness to track anything other than the feel of her lips and her tongue, and having her warm and vibrant in his arms.

At length they parted, and he didn't quite let her go but drew back enough to look at her -- she looked enticingly disheveled and blissful, and her eyes flicked up to his with questions in them.

"More wine?" he said softly.

"All right," she whispered. There was just the barest hint of disappointment, but she pulled away, leaving her hair as messy as he'd made it and reaching for her glass. She brought his back as well.

Jean-Luc took his wine from her, and thought about what might make for a decent debate. There was, after all, no need to rush into this -- plenty of reasons to savor every hour. If it continued as it was going, it would possibly be the last romance he would ever have, and he also wanted to give them all the time they needed to feel grounded and comfortable in what was between them. Neither of them had the best experiences with this kind of thing.

 


	8. The Offspring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deja Q - let's make Q human and see what happens... mariachis and cigars! Eat any good books lately, Worf? I guess they could sit around and roll their eyes about crazy old uncle Q. Skipping it tho.
> 
> A Matter of Perspective - Data is an art critic, and Jean-Luc is an artist. Together they fight crime. Riker is the target of a jealous-for-no-reason husband scientist who tries to vaporize him, Jean-Luc uses the holodeck and science! to save the day. Nothing of sufficient interest to the muse that triggers a need for a coda.
> 
> Yesterday's Enterprise - time loop reset, coda exists in canon ala Redemption 1 and 2. Since no one is going to remember the action in this alternate universe episode, they can't even talk about it. Skipping it.
> 
>  
> 
> The Offspring - Data's daughter Lal. Poor Lal, poor Data. At least she got to kiss Riker before that lousy admiral ruined everything by scaring her into a nervous breakdown.
> 
> \-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So how's it going?"

When Beverly asked that question, she meant specifically between him and Deanna, and Jean-Luc gave her the look of scolding and ate the last bite of his scone. They were sitting in his living room. One breakfast per week, four weeks, she had asked that question, and gotten no answer, yet she continued to ask it.

Unlike the previous three weeks, she went on, with a pinch of frustration between her eyebrows, instead of giving up and going back to eating. "It's just curious to me that she's never here at breakfast."

Oh.

He reached for a croissant, dropped it on his plate, and then refilled his coffee. He tried not to show surprise, or anxiety, or anything else that might lead to another question.

It was of course too late by the time he realized the flaw in not answering at all. When he looked at her again, she had worry in her eyes. "Beverly, nothing's wrong. We're fine."

"I guess I thought that -- I mean, we're all friends," Beverly said uncertainly.

"You're assuming that she spends the night every night?"

"Oh, well... I know she's been really, really happy. I guess -- you probably know she's a cuddler by now, she told me once that she runs on the cold side and likes -- " She stopped talking. Perhaps realized she was veering into territory he wasn't going to explore with her unless she managed to get him stinking drunk. Something that hadn't happened since... Jack.

"I think she's checking on Data, actually," he said. "She's worried about him."

Sympathy, all over Beverly's beautiful face. "Poor Lal. She was doing so well. And Deanna was so involved with her. She hasn't talked much about it."

"It's hard to know how to feel. Data said he saved her programs, incorporated them, but obviously she's not with us in the same way that she was. What a remarkable person she was." Hard to believe she had been with them just yesterday. Even the admiral had been distraught at her passing.

The door opened, and he knew it was Deanna -- she was the only other person aboard who was able to come in without permission. She was frowning, and wore the brilliant green dress she'd recently added to her wardrobe. She was most of the way in before she noticed Beverly. She did a double-take and half turned to leave.

"No, come sit down," Beverly exclaimed, waving at the open space to the right of her on the couch. "Or, you know," she added, scooting away from Jean-Luc to let her take the space between them.

"How is Data?" Jean-Luc asked, as she stepped over the corner of the coffee table and sat between them, smoothing her skirt.

"Just as he was yesterday. He tried to console me, again." She shook her head, dismay evident in her face.

Jean-Luc put a hand on her arm, leaned toward her. "He doesn't understand."

"She had feelings. If her memories were there, he would understand -- she felt such love for him, at the end. But it's not there now." A tear rolled down her cheek. "He could have understood love."

"How do you know?" Beverly asked.

"I could tell. I wouldn't have expected to, but I could tell what she felt -- it wasn't quite the same as what any of us feel, but it was similar enough. She felt such fear, and then she loved her father."

"You loved her," Jean-Luc said. "She must have cared about you -- she came to you first, when she started to malfunction."

"She's really gone. Her feelings are gone, what made her special -- he doesn't remember everything," Deanna murmured, leaning to rest her cheek on his shoulder.

He'd put his arm around her before Beverly started to move -- she quietly left his quarters, probably deciding to give them privacy. Deanna glanced up at her retreating back.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean -- "

"Don't worry about it, we were almost done anyway. Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine, just... Data works so hard to understand. He was doing so well with her. She could have taught him so much. And I'm going to miss her." She settled closer against him.

He smiled, and stroked her shoulder. "He'll probably try again."

"It's not the same. It's never the same, when a child dies you never replace them." A throb in her voice said it was hitting close to home. Rather than invoke Ian's memory, he let her burrow closer and held her there in spite of knowing he'd be late. They were in transit to the Morinar system, and several days away.

At last she pulled away, and with a weak smile she picked up what was left of his coffee and sipped it. Then she glanced at the display on the desk. "We're late."

"Yes, we should be going." He gave his jacket a tug as they stood up. "Sure you're all right?"

"I will be. I have several appointments, I'm having lunch with Will to start this quarter's round of performance reviews, and hopefully I have a dinner date with you to start reviewing the Gemarian and Dachlyd cultures, to prepare for the negotiations?"

"Yes," he said with a smile as he led the way from his quarters. He'd decided that they would be on that mission together, her skill set and calm demeanor would be helpful in what would be a touchy trade negotiation, which was scheduled for the following month after a pre-colonization survey they were on their way to complete. The negotiations  would also be time off the ship, with her, and no crew around. He still found himself jumpy and self-conscious while walking around with her, as if he were wearing a sign that said 'sleeping with the pretty Betazoid' and might get laughed at for it. Which was ridiculous. He'd never liked a lot of attention, tried to avoid it as much as possible. But he knew how gossip traveled on Starfleet vessels, and he knew that the bridge crew down to the junior officers were aware -- there had been smiles and smirks, when the two of them were out in public areas of the ship together, even when they were with Data or Beverly or some combination of the other senior officers.

"You're preoccupied," Deanna said as they traveled to deck three.

"Nothing new there."

"I'll see you at dinner, if not sooner," she said as the door opened. The corridor was empty. She took a step to keep the door open, turning to kiss him on the lips softly. "Thank you, for being there for me. I love you."

He watched her walk out, smiling, nodding when she glanced over her shoulder -- the door closed, and the lift moved on. Seconds later, he exited on the bridge and checked in with Will. Who smirked, as if being late meant something else. Jean-Luc glanced at the back of Data's head, noticed a sympathetic glance toward the android on the part of Mr. Crusher, and sighed.

"Mr. Data, you have the bridge. Number One, with me," he said, spinning on his heel and heading into the ready room.

Will barely gave the door time to close behind them. "Data seems to be doing better than everyone else," he commented. "Although you appear to have a spring in your step."

"Coffee?"

"Already had plenty, thanks."

When he returned from the replicator with a cup of Earl Grey, Will was still smirking, sitting in one of the chairs. "Something amusing you, Will?"

The smirk dwindled, somewhat. "Not at all," he said lightly, managing to imply the opposite. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

Jean-Luc took a moment to calm himself with a deep breath. "You realize that I've been late, every once in a while, before now?"

It sobered him even more, doing away with his amusement. "Yeah."

"The rest of the crew will take their cues from you," Jean-Luc said, eyeing Will over the teacup.

"Why is it a terrible thing for us to be happy for you?" Will exclaimed. He crossed his legs and propped his elbows on the arms of the chair. "It's a normal thing, when you have someone, to have a honeymoon phase, get carried away -- I know it's not going to be status quo, it's just new. You get used to each other, you fall into a routine, no problems."

"I'm confused," Jean-Luc said, setting his cup on the desk and dropping his hands to the chair arms. "How is it that you know what that's like?"

The minute he said it, he knew it was his impatient peevishness, that he was lashing out at Will for being so amused. He had never liked feeling that he was being laughed at. At one point recently, Deanna had taken him aside and gently informed him that most of the time, when people were looking and grinning, they weren't laughing at him but being happy or amused, and not in a disrespectful or mocking manner. His immediate reaction was to dismiss it, but it took less time now for him to re-examine and reconsider -- her observations, when she shared them, were intended to help him. That had been true since the day she came aboard. And she made them with such affection now that it was difficult to feel attacked by her.

Of course, that reassurance from her wasn't helping him at all with this particular person.  


Will had a way of fending off such commentary with a shrug that Jean-Luc almost envied. "It's what I'm told. I do have married friends. And others who pair off, in less official ways."

"You weren't here for Lal's creation. Perhaps you're unaware that Deanna was with Data, while they helped her choose her appearance, her gender, and helped her learn how to be a person. She was the one Lal went to, when she malfunctioned."

It did what it should do, sobered him up. Will sighed. "She's still mourning?"

"Not only that, she's the only one doing so -- Data doesn't understand. Deanna went to him this morning and tried to connect with him on this, and failed. So she cried with me, instead. And so I was late, yes, not that it would be anyone's business."

Will started to smile, again. "Not sure why anyone would be defensive, about being suspected of being with her. I know a few who would be bragging."

"Perhaps I am more sensitive than most, about being accused of dereliction of duty," Jean-Luc replied smoothly.

Will paused, then gave it a nod. "In any case, we're slightly ahead of schedule, and all systems are functioning within or above normal parameters. I'm having lunch with Deanna, to start the performance reviews, and going to the holodeck later in the afternoon to spar with Worf. Anything else?"

"You are dismissed, sir," Jean-Luc said. He watched the first officer leaving -- Will had taken to announcing when he would be spending time with Deanna. Another irritating thing, though he wasn't sure why. Perhaps that was the irritant. A behavior change that had no reason to exist, that might mean something benign, or something more.  


After Will had retreated to the bridge, Jean-Luc turned to checking messages, then reviewing last shift's logs, then eventually lunch time came around. And he had got through the day's tedious work, so there was an afternoon to kill -- one of the things about efficient crews and long travel times, there were often lulls, to avail oneself of, to take time to relax and engage in recreation -- it offset the days of ongoing stress of a mission gone awry, when they were working at times for several days with nap breaks and hurriedly-scrounged meals of protein bars instead of a regular diurnal cycle, meals, and regular rest breaks.

He left the bridge in the capable hands of Data, and went into the turbolift, and as the doors closed, he sent himself on the way to his quarters, changed into costume, went to holodeck four, and stepped onto the street outside Dixon Hill's office building. He stood there watching the autos rolling by, white-walled tires splashing through puddles -- it was night, and the street lamps glowed as a cold drizzle fell out of the sky. Characters hurried by on the sidewalk, the lapels of their coats turned up and their heads bowed to keep the wet out.

He tried to focus on the simulation, jogged up the steps to the third floor, greeted his secretary -- her voice grated on him and he snapped at her as he fled into the office, shrugging off the overcoat and tossing it over one of the chairs. But as the client, a shapely doll in a slinky dress with a fur coat on, her perfect red lips pursed fetchingly and a sad wrinkle in her forehead, explained the situation he was to fix, dabbing her tears away with a white lace-edge kerchief, he called a halt to the program.

He knew Deanna was in Ten Forward, chatting with Will about the reviews. He knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that nothing was wrong with that and nothing would happen between them. They were his officers and they were doing what they had always done. But Jean-Luc couldn't distract himself from the unsettled, diffuse anxiety that made him restless, kept him fidgeting with the seams on the pockets and unable to focus with any real interest.  


Leaving the holodeck, he strode through the corridors at a quick clip -- the first couple of officers he passed dodged him with such alacrity that he stopped and took stock of himself, took a deep breath, and continued at a more subdued pace, making sure to make eye contact and nod pleasantly at people he encountered.

Back in his bedroom, he tore off the costume and threw the components across the end of the bed -- then sat there in his underwear and felt pathetic. His anger wasn't at them, but at himself, for feeling any anxiety at all. It was idiotic. Will had shown no sign of ire, no sign at all that he was upset, completely the opposite, all the smiles and nods and implicit cues he approved were there, and on top of that he'd given _reassurance_ that things would normalize.

And there was, he thought, the heart of it. The condescension, the implication that Jean-Luc had no idea how to go about this sort of thing -- which was true, yes, but it wasn't quite the same as learning astrophysics, two rational people were perfectly capable of managing, and they were. He nodded to himself -- the only decision now was to talk to Will, or ignore the problem away. He started to put away the costume in his closet, and then opened it wider. Then he sat on the side of the bed and looked around the room, and started to think about how it would change, if Deanna moved in with him.  


He'd been seeing her more often and they'd spent more time talking, and there had been trips to the holodeck -- she had begun showing him parts of her life history, places on Betazed. They'd gone riding again. He had even shown her the French countryside -- talked about the happier moments of his childhood. It was going along at a comfortable pace. He didn't care about what 'should' happen, and nothing about her demeanor when they were together suggested that she was bothered by anything -- she was happy, and clingy, as Beverly had said. Touching and hugging him were now common ways for her to express affection, and he found that this was very much to his liking.

Just thinking about it was arousing. It was vastly different being with her than anyone he'd been intimate with before. The encounters he'd had with women over the course of his career had run from hours to days in duration, and it had been clear to both parties that it was temporary -- it lent a certain urgency to it, led to quick progressions from a kiss to a tumble into bed, or the floor, or one time it had been a shelf in a closet. He hadn't been in any hurry with Deanna. But as much as she enjoyed everything they had done so far, he found himself hesitating. It wasn't that she was unwilling, she responded so eagerly to his touch. Being held, being caressed -- running a hand under her shirt, up her back, would send her into a happy wriggle and bring her into his lap to start kissing him, while he kept his hands exploring her skin, her breasts, playing with her nipples --

He was hard, thinking about how her skin felt on his palms -- he closed his eyes and kept his hands flat on the bedspread at his sides, thought about the time he'd gone swimming in the Pacific -- the ice-cold water, flowing over his skin, the way the wind hit his wet skin as he left the water -- and the erection subsided somewhat. He propped his elbows on his thighs and leaned forward with his hands over the back of his head.

"Hopeless old man," he grumbled to himself.

"Jean-Luc?"

He sat up to find her peering in through the open bedroom door. "Deanna," he said, startled. When she didn't come in he added, "Come in."

She came to him slowly, and sat down next to him, hesitant -- it was the first time she'd been in his bedroom, he realized. Just the same, why would she be tentative? But he put a hand on her back, smiled at her, and she leaned to kiss him on the lips, the brief kiss hello that he'd never gotten from anyone before.

"We finished what we could, and I thought about getting some other things done, but it occurred to me that we're about to go on this mission and you'll probably be very focused for the duration of the negotiations. So I reasoned that the best use of my time might be to spend it with you," she said with soft lights in her eyes and the fond smile he enjoyed so much. Her eyes dropped slightly, to the black shorts he wore, and flicked up to his again. With a saucy head-tilt, she kissed him again, a soft brush of the lips, and pushed in harder, the tip of her tongue sliding past his teeth.

He opened his mouth and kissed her, bringing his hand up to cradle her jaw, and the kiss became a mutual expression -- he realized her hands were working at her uniform and pulled away to help her. He caught her hands and moved them out of the way, and she held her hair out of the way as he tugged off her shirt. Then he moved his fingertips along the straps of the bra, down the lacy edges to the clasp in the front. Meanwhile, she removed the band keeping her hair swept up tightly in a bun. The pants had to come off, and the boots -- she stood and turned slightly away to slide the pants down, then hooked her fingers in the sides of the scant pink panties and push them down, before stepping out of them and the boots. She turned and took his hand, tugging, and when he stood up she came up against him and slipped her hand down the front of his shorts. Her hand closed around the base of his penis.

He gasped, even as her mouth covered his, and rational thought went away. His arms went around her and he fell into the kiss, swaying, enjoying the pressure of her breasts against his chest and the tight grip on him -- her tongue retreated, and she started to speak, her lips moving against his, and he panted while he started to move, in an attempt to nudge her toward the bed.

"I like sex," she murmured, continuing the hand job without a pause. "I like all kinds of sex. Do you know what I want, right now?"

"Sex?"

"Hmmm," she hummed approvingly. "I've been hoping. Trying to understand the hesitation."

"Do I appear to be hesitating? You're the one who started talking."  


She giggled, and let go of him, backed a step, sat on the edge of the bed with a bounce and picked up the fedora sitting on the pillow. He'd left Dixon's hat on the bed. "All right."  


"I need to -- " He gestured toward the bathroom.  


"Okay. I'll be here."  


He left the shorts in the bathroom floor after he relieved himself and washed his hands. He returned to find she wore the hat as she lounged in the center of the bed, her hair spilling down from it around her face and around her shoulders. He smiled, and her answering smile was encouraging, as she also had the light in her eyes that told him she loved him. As he approached she shifted around to lie next to him -- she'd pulled down the covers, exposing the standard-issue sheets. He settled next to her and they sat together against the pillows for a moment.  


"What's wrong?" she asked, taking his hand. She tossed the fedora aside.  


He looked up at the viewports over the bed, looked around the room, and started to shake his head.  


"It's your first time?" she asked with a grin. He started to laugh, incredulous, and she joined him for a moment. When they subsided, she gripped his fingers and inched closer, to put her hand on his thigh. "Your first time here, was what I actually meant. I know why that might be enough to make you anxious."  


"I'm sorry," he murmured. "It's been... one of those days."  


Deanna reached down and brought the covers up over their legs, and wiggled down under them, seeking warmth. He moved down until his head was on the pillow next to hers, and as he predicted, she snuggled in against him -- a very different experience, naked as they were, all that lovely smooth skin sliding along his, and she made a happy little noise as she rested her chin on his shoulder.  


"Have you thought about having your circulation checked? I mean, I didn't think it was possible for someone to be this cold and still be warm-blooded." Somehow she managed to be cold to the touch, head to toe. The temperature of the atmosphere in the ship wasn't that cold.  


"Not right now, I'm basking. You're so warm. What happened today? I thought we were just traveling at warp, nothing going on. You went to play one of your Dixon Hill scenarios?"  


"I tried. I couldn't really focus on it."  


"Will said you seemed upset with him this morning. Is this something we should meet about, tomorrow morning?"  


"Let me decide that in the morning. I'm busy right now."  


"Hmmm, yes," she said, wriggling against him. "Although you could be busier, this is very nice."  


"You're right. I was having some sort of -- are you sure you want a neurotic like me around? I'm starting to sound like one of your clients again."  


"Nobody's perfect," she said, the smile audible. "Sometimes I sound like one of my clients." Her hand lay flat against his thigh, and started to creep inward.  


"You're warmer, at least." He started to move, and she proved how much empathy could do for her, by bringing her body into position without a single collision of limb -- her arms welcomed him, as he kissed her. It was a leisurely sort of kiss, as he lay across her and her leg began to slide along his, her foot sliding across his calf as she moved her hips in a slow roll, raising him slightly.  


Both of them flinched when the chime sounded. "What the hell," he spat, sliding out of bed. Technically he was on duty, the sort of detached duty officers could indulge in when everything was status quo and they were in transit.  


"It has to be Data. I can't sense anything."  


He threw on a robe and a pair of shorts, and the chime went off again as he went out to answer it. When the door opened the android stood there with his usual pleasant expression. "Good afternoon, Captain," he said.  


"Hello, Data," Jean-Luc said, trying not to sound peevish.  


"I am on my way to the holodeck, to practice my painting. I wondered if you might care to join me."  


"It's kind of you to think of me, Data, but not today. But thank you. Are you taking the class, then?" The art class Jean-Luc had dropped out of was still running, twice a week.  


"I am creating a program in which I will learn how to paint a portrait. I would like to paint a picture of my daughter."  


That brought a smile to Jean-Luc's face. "It sounds like a worthy project. I'll look forward to seeing it."  


"Have a good afternoon, Captain." Data gave him a slight smile and walked off down the corridor at his usual pace, with his usual upright carriage.  


In the bedroom, Deanna was still up to her chin under the covers and appeared to be lying there with her eyes closed. "Everything all right?" she asked.  


"He wanted me to come with him, to the holodeck, to paint a portrait of Lal."  


She sat up then, her hair a dark cloud of curls around her head, and gave him a serious look. Then she smiled sadly. "Everyone grieves in their own way," she said softly.  


"Deanna...."  


"We should join him," she said, sliding out of the bed. "He's our friend."  


Jean-Luc smiled, thinking about the women he'd known who would have had a meltdown if he had suggested postponing time with them to be with an android. He hadn't even had to say the words to her. He went to the closet and drew out a long-sleeved shirt, not a uniform. "I love you," he said, with feeling.  


Deanna straightened from rescuing pieces of her uniform from the floor at the foot of the bed and smiled back at him. "You'll let me replicate something to wear, then?"  


"And chocolate, and I'll even bring out the best of the wine for dinner."  


"Planning to get me drunk and have your way with me?" she said, the dimples reappearing.  


"I hope not. I have the feeling it would be much more satisfying if you're coherent. I find myself wondering if I might entice the masseuse out of retirement?"  


"You can expect it," she said, carrying her clothing out to the replicator.  


Jean-Luc pulled on pants and went out to find her putting on her bra. "Well, there's a tragedy."  


"I like you this way. More cheek, less anxiety. I find myself wanting to reward this." Deanna plucked the red dress off the back of a chair and pulled it over her head -- she must have recycled the uniform and replicated the dress. And shoes -- she stepped into some flat-soled black shoes, ran her hands up beneath her hair and twisted it into a bun, then fastened it with the hair band she'd been wearing earlier. It was less than perfect, with stray hair everywhere.  


"I'd like you to reward me," he said.  


Deanna turned to give him a smile that nearly led to his removing her dress again, and then it changed, probably in response to that -- her amused smirk wasn't as enticing, but still enjoyable. "We'll have all night for that, you know, and it's far less likely that we'll be disturbed."  


"Hm, don't jinx it," he said, heading for the door. As they started down the corridor his hand went to the small of her back; she glanced up at him, startled, but he nudged her along.  


The lift opened as they approached it, and they joined a lieutenant from ops for a few minutes, then left her there -- Jean-Luc noticed her glance at them, smile a little, and come to attention for the rest of the ride. As they approached the holodeck doors he glanced at Deanna -- she was wearing a pleased little smile. They came to a stop at the door, and he touched the panel. Unexpectedly she mirrored his gesture, sliding her hand along his back and stepping closer, turning to look up at him with the smile and an expression that suggested she might be walking on air.  


Then he heard the door of the holodeck down the corridor, and turned just in time to catch a glimpse of Will carrying a Klingon weapon into the holodeck. With the door open, the shouts and screams of Klingons in full battle filled the corridor, then the door shut and blocked it all again.  


When he turned to Deanna, she looked satisfied. "Let's go see what Data's up to," she said.  


Since he knew there wouldn't be an answer if he asked, he sighed and turned as the door opened. "Captain," Data said with the happiness he would constantly tell people he couldn't feel.  


"I hope you don't mind that I brought Deanna," he said.  


"I do not. Please, come in. I have replicated a studio from the eighteenth century, in order to...."  


Deanna shot him an amused glance as they followed Data into the holodeck.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The episode left me wondering about the things that made Lal different than Data. He used himself as a template, then she develops feelings that Troi can sense. Or at least that's what the last few scenes suggest. Why Troi cannot sense Data's feelings -- like Spock before him, he pulls facial expressions constantly that suggest they are there -- and yet she tunes into Lal's makes a little sense if he somehow creates an android that's subtly different than him, but only a little.


	9. Sins of the Father

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sins of the Father - this is the episode that starts an arc that spans two series, Worf's discommendation and eventual reinstatement. Also one in which the whole ship takes off from whatever Starfleet expects them to do, and does something else. Kind of the equivalent of taking your submarine to go pick up your buddy and take him home, or joyriding around in that fighter jet. I suppose we can rationalize the incident in the name of Federation-Klingon relations. Riker is the Klingon aficionado and Worf's friend, Picard goes down there instead -- and he fights off Klingons with his bare hands. 
> 
> Which, as I contemplate the greater body of work that is Star Trek, makes very little sense. One puny human, two great big tough Klingons in full body armor. They get punched and stabbed, Jean-Luc runs around the rest of the episode as if nothing happened. Hmmm....

"I'm tired," Jean-Luc complained at last. He frowned at Beverly as she rounded the end of the biobed.

"Of course you are, you look like someone who was involved in a fist fight with Klingons," she retorted, holding up the sensor wand to run another scan of his head. "You're going to need some time in the regenerator, you've been walking around with cracked ribs and there's a fracture in the -- "

"Can we just do what needs to be done? I still need to check in with the bridge."

Beverly gave him a look of scolding, and put a hand on his shoulder. "Lie back down. Alyssa, let's start with the spine -- target the second, third and fourth thoracic vertebrae first."

While they methodically ran the regenerator and the tingling started, he heard the door to sickbay open -- he kept his eyes on the ceiling and tried not to inhale too much as it hurt to do that. 

"How is he?" At the sound of Deanna's voice, his heart leaped. 

"Fine, though there are the usual signs that someone's been spending time with Klingons," Beverly said. "We'll be done in a bit. You can talk to him if you want."

Ogawa, who was standing near the head of the biobed, monitoring readouts, smiled down at him -- he immediately reacted with anxiety, but it was a friendly smile, not a mocking one, he told himself, deliberately taking a deep breath to calm his reaction. The resulting stab of pain in the side warned him to stop. 

"Hi, Alyssa," Deanna said, arriving on the other side of the biobed. "Can you give us a moment?"

"I shouldn't leave this unattended... I'll go over there," the nurse said, indicating a direction with a nod, "and if anything needs my intervention you can call me back. All right?"

"Thank you." Deanna watched her go for a moment before looking down at him. "Hi."

"Counselor."

Her smile, already warm and affectionate, deepened -- her eyes were glittering. And her expression seemed fragile and on the verge of shifting into something else, that he didn't want to see. "It looks like you had fun," she said with forced humor.

He smiled, not at the statement but at her effort. "Worf would have a different opinion. He's in exile, essentially. You might want to talk to him, see if there's anything you can do to help."

"I'll do that tomorrow. I have other concerns today. I know you need to file reports and probably contact an admiral, and talk to Will, and I have one more appointment in an hour. But I needed to see you."

"I'm fine," he murmured. The corner of his mouth tugged itself upward. "You should have seen the other guy."

"How many of them were there?"

"It only takes one angry Klingon, you know. I've been through worse. This is nothing but a few cracked ribs." 

Her hand touched his shoulder, barely putting pressure, as if she were afraid to touch him. "You feel terrible."

"You aren't going to let me reassure you, are you?"

She giggled, but it was a weak version of her usual. "I'm sorry. I suppose you might have noticed that I'm more easily caught up in others' emotions when it's someone I'm close to?"

"After they're done with me, I'll be on the bridge. And then I'll go crawl in my bed, where I'll collapse for a good night's sleep. If you want to be there I would be happy to snore in your ear."

"Okay. Maybe you'll let me feed you, before you fall asleep?"

"Go on, Counselor. I'll see you later."

Her fingers flitted across his head, and she moved out of his field of vision. He heard the door open and close. Ogawa returned and kept her eyes on the monitors. "We're almost done with the spine, I'm setting it up to move on to the fractured ribs," she said as she started to tap on the panel. 

"Thank you, Ensign," he said wearily. 

Ogawa looked at him and smiled again. "Let me know if there's any discomfort."

"I appreciate your help. And your professionalism," he said, making the effort. He didn't tend to waste time in chitchat, most of the time, even when not in the middle of some situation. He knew he could be abrupt, and had decided to try to change that if circumstances allowed. But he was feeling particularly dead-headed, today. "I have a headache."

"Doctor," Alyssa called out at once. That of course led to a hypospray and a reassuring smile from Beverly. She patted his shoulder before looking away at the monitors, and nodded.

"It looks good," she said. "You need to eat something and you could probably use a bath, but I think we've done all we can." She started to release clamps to move the regenerator out of the way. Ogawa moved off somewhere, and Beverly glanced after her, then turned to him. "Captain, you're free to go. To quarters. Will can handle things, it's not like he's unaware. Worf went up there after we checked him out."

"Doctor -- "

"Go home," she said softly.

He sat up slowly and sighed at the stiffness in his side. "Are you trying to tell me something?"

"She's going to adjust to it, she has to, we all have to," Beverly said. "But it's hard at first to watch your -- to watch him be injured, in the line of duty."

"She watched me get shot before, we've been in situations -- "

"That wasn't the same," Beverly interjected. "I know your counselor has to have told you that feelings are inconvenient that way, they don't just fall into place when you tell them to -- feelings are what they are. She knows what Klingons are capable of, she's seen it before. When she sensed you were being punched around she went to pieces. It embarrassed her, and then she hid in her office." Beverly crossed her arms and sternly stared into his eyes. "Once again, it's affecting how she is, on duty. She knows she will adjust. You know. But you aren't going to maintain a relationship if you don't help each other with that."

At first, the interference annoyed him. But it was Beverly -- as much as she could poke fun at him sometimes, this was her being concerned, and trying to be helpful. "All right."

"You should be back on the bridge in the morning. Let us know if you have unexpected pain."

She watched him leave. He knew he was slower than usual, and the post-regeneration stiffness probably wasn't helping; he felt like he was wrapped up in tape from hip to sternum.

And there came Will, as he approached the lift -- turning to walk with him in the corridor, obviously looking for him. "Good to see you in one piece, sir," he said. "Mr. Worf said you'd been in a fight?"

"Briefly. I was jumped by two Klingons, while I was trying to convince Khalest to provide evidence."

"Deanna said you were injured," Will commented. 

"Nothing I couldn't handle. Are we on the way to our next destination?"

"We were, for all of ten minutes, before a message came in from Command -- we're being diverted to Cor Caroli Five. There's a plague going on there. The admiral said we'd be able to help them with what we can replicate. We're arriving late tomorrow."

"Good. I should be back to normal by then." They entered the lift together, and Jean-Luc glanced at Will standing at attention beside him. "Something wrong, Will?"

"Computer, halt turbolift." Will stared at the floor for a moment, before turning to address him again. "I think you may have guessed that it's been -- anxiety-provoking, since you, and Deanna...."

"Yes. I have been aware. I assumed this would not interfere in some substantial manner, mostly because neither of you have said anything that suggested it would, or that it was." Jean-Luc found himself putting his hands behind his back and turning to face him across the tiny space in the lift. "Has that changed?"

"I'm not sure. She started to cry when you were attacked. Ran off the bridge."

"There's a first time for everything, I suppose," he said, thinking of what Beverly had told him.

"You don't sound surprised. Or disappointed."

"People have emotional reactions to new and intense experiences. I've seen someone break down on the bridge before. I've also seen people recover from mistakes and go on to be stable and reliable officers." He gazed at Will, wondering what he would take away from that.

"I'm... I think that I've been struggling with it more than either of you. I -- " Will paused, mouth open, and ran his hand over his hair, a sure sign that he was extremely stressed. "I don't know what she's told you, about the past. Or the present, even -- about our relationship."

Jean-Luc raised his head slightly and tried not to react too overtly to any of it. He didn't like the sound of this, and he thought that it might be a conversation best saved for sometime that he didn't feel like he'd been caught between a hammer and an anvil. 

Then again, was there ever going to be a time that he felt like having this conversation?

"I haven't had a reason to ask about it, and she's never given me more than a general summary. And I hardly find it helpful to go back in time -- is it relevant to why you've seen fit to announce, in advance, every second you spend with her? Is it going to explain why you kept telling me that it was all right to be late in the morning, or you felt I needed relationship advice?"

Will gaped for a few seconds. "I -- didn't want any misunderstandings, I was trying to be supportive. I didn't want you to think that I -- that we were doing anything behind your back."

Perhaps this was the ideal time for this conversation, Jean-Luc reflected, as he was simply too tired to respond with any real ire to anything Will said. "If I had any question of her loyalty, I would ask her. If there were someone else she would be gone -- it makes little enough sense for her to be with me as it is. Your reassurances are annoying. They make me question why you make them."

A quiet huff, from Will, as he looked around the lift instead of looking at Jean-Luc. And then he did look at him, with a frown. "I'm sorry. I guess I haven't been really thinking straight about it. I think...." A long moment of thought drew itself out in silence. "I believed that the past was the past. But -- "

When Will couldn't finish the thought, Jean-Luc sighed, deeply, despite the ache and the stiffness in his sides. "Do you know that it was widely believed that you and Deanna were more than friends? I know, because she's told me as you have told me, that you decided to keep things professional. Had I relied on my impression of your behavior, instead of what she has told me, I would not be with her."

"I've never made any advances on her, never laid any claim -- "

"Wyatt Miller," he said quietly, cutting through the protest. It was enough to bring Will's face into the sullen frown he would occasionally have when he was defensive. 

"She's my friend," Will insisted. "If any of my friends were being forced into -- "

"Really?" Jean-Luc interjected, calmly, with the faint smile of the confident victor. "You would have come to my rescue if I were being expected to marry someone I met when I was five? Or at least tried to scowl away the problem. In any case, she agreed to fulfill the promise her parents made, and we both know if she had decided otherwise there would not be a way to force her to do it."

Will stared at the floor again. "You couldn't have approved of that arrangement, either."

"You were also upset about Devonni Ral."

"He was a dishonest -- " Will scowled at him. "You weren't?"

"I knew what he was. She was in pain, and he was convenient, and an empath as well. She's hardly the first to immerse herself in sensual pursuits to bandage a heartbreak." 

"You had to feel -- "

"My feelings were hardly relevant," Jean-Luc said stiffly. "If I made decisions based solely on what I felt -- I don't make that mistake any longer, needless to say. It was her choice, and it always will be."

"You make me wonder if you're even human," Will muttered.

"You told her you wanted to keep things professional. And she lets you lie to yourself, and keeps it professional, and then she moves on. I let you choose to stay on, here, despite the fact that it is stalling your career. I do it knowing that you're probably doing it for personal reasons. Emotional ones. I thought that you were motivated to stay close to her. She corrected that assumption. Why did you stay, Will?"

Will crossed his arms and gave it some thought. "The Enterprise feels like home. Like family."

"Yes. Emotional ties will scuttle your career if you let them."

"But I wonder -- you know what the counselors say, about balance," Will exclaimed. "About thinking ahead -- a life without any close ties will eventually be lonely. I'm not good at lonely."

Jean-Luc gave him a brittle smile. "You clutter your time with superficial relationships to pretend you aren't lonely. That occupied me for a good thirty years. Might want to think about that tactic a little more. Computer, resume."

"I didn't believe she was happy, with you. She didn't appear to be. I asked her a couple of weeks ago why she never smiled any more." Will was clearly stung and on the defense, now.

Jean-Luc glared at him. Deanna was fine, her professional self in meetings and her happier, more relaxed self when she was with him. "She doesn't stay where she isn't happy. Her feelings aren't the issue."

"Of course they are," Will said, not hearing what was being said.

The doors opened, and Jean-Luc strode out, then immediately modified his gait to shorter steps when the stiffness turned to a more painful ache. Will, unfortunately, followed him. "You were telling me that you still have feelings for her. I highly recommend counseling, and sucking it up."

"What?" came the immediate, sharp response.

Jean-Luc turned to eye the man. "Grow up, Mr. Riker. Your feelings are not all there is in life. I've come to respect you a good deal, and consider you a good friend. I've also refrained from making any comment on your choices or your behavior outside the professional, as has always been my habit with any officer, but I also find myself thinking about myself at about your age, and the similarities between us. How stubborn I was, and how much I needed a good kick in the ass. I could have used a friend who didn't simply crack jokes and tease me -- someone who looked me in the eye, and told me that I would regret the denial, and the lack of introspection, and letting my emotions lead me around by the nose instead of learning to redirect and change them to suit my purposes."

"You think I'm out of control," Will exclaimed.

"Not at all. But there is a world of difference between accepting and dealing with emotions, and denying or repressing them, and both of those can be a form of control. I'm going to bed, as the doctor ordered. We can talk tomorrow if you are so inclined."

Jean-Luc headed for his quarters at a swift, decisive hobble, and went in, not bothering to look back to see if Will had gone or still stood there fuming in the corridor. He almost asked for tea out of habit, but ordered water instead -- he had had nothing to drink or eat all day. Rather than sit and then go back to the replicator, he decided to not waste the energy and stood drinking the water and thinking about what to eat. Nothing sounded appealing so he resorted to toast. He carried it into the bedroom and started to remove the uniform, slowly. It was impossible to do without twisting, and that hurt, but he winced and did it anyway, bending to yank off the boots one by one then sitting on the edge of the bed trying to catch his breath. Then the bedroom door opened, and she was there.

"You're not all right," Deanna exclaimed, rushing to sit with him. "You should go back to sickbay."

"You know about regenerator soreness, I assume," he said. "How repeated ongoing use of a regenerator can eventually result in stiffness and soreness after treatment. They gave me a painkiller, it doesn't help the sensation of being a block of wood."

"But that only happens when -- " She fell silent, processing it. It took years of repeated regeneration cycles to cause that reaction in human tissue, which tended to happen only in very dangerous occupations. "A massage will help."

"I thought you had an appointment," he said, as she went to work -- guiding him to lay upon the bed and starting to pull off the rest of his uniform. At the slightest twinge in his muscles, she eased off, holding the limb at a different angle or pulling with less force to remove the sleeve or pant leg.

"The client rescheduled. I would have been here sooner, but I ran into Will -- he was riding around in the turbolift trying to stop being furious. What did you say to him?"

"Nothing I wouldn't have said to myself."

Deanna perched on the edge of the bed and looked down at him. It would have felt awkward, just a few weeks ago, having her strip him completely and then sit there with her hand on his hip talking to him about Will Riker, but he had come to accept the absurdities of life as they came along. "You told him to grow up."

"I thought we agreed that he needed to do that."

"I thought you understood that there are certain things you facilitate by not simply telling the person to do them -- things like calm down, grow up, be smart."

"He told me he still has feelings for you, so I told him what I wish someone had told me when I was in that situation, which is more than I ever had. I simply had someone teasing me endlessly about it -- that helped as much as throwing deuterium on a plasma leak."

"You told your first officer to grow up," she rephrased, with a cynical twist of her mouth. That was Counselor Troi at her worst, the quiet scolding.

"He wasn't being my first officer at the time. He was being your ex and a petulant one at that."

"The real problem with friends who are subordinates is that when they are offended in the personal realm, sometimes the hurt feelings are carried over into the professional, complaints are lodged -- "

"Thank you, for reminding me," he growled. The headache was back. "Let him complain. I'll plead exhaustion and pain, because he accosted me when I was trying to follow the doctor's orders."

Deanna sighed, and smiled sadly at him. "I'll be right back. Eat some of that," she said, pointing at the cold toast. 

She returned as he nibbled the toast, with a plate of fruit and cheese and a small bottle of what he presumed to be massage oil. The familiar doughnut pillow was under her elbow. She set them on the other night stand, and peeled back the covers, took the pillows from their customary position and placed them at the foot of the bed out of her way, and put the circular cushion in the center.

"Is it always this bad?" She had to help him roll over. He was getting stiffer just laying there.

"It's worse when there are more fractures and thus more regeneration needed."

She fed him a piece of cheese before planting his face in the cushion and nudging his limbs until she had his spine in alignment. "I'm lighting some incense, hopefully one that doesn't make the headache worse."

"As long as it's not patchouli."

It was, he thought, as she started with light strokes of her palms in circular motions all over his back, one of the ironies of life that he'd ended up with someone like her. He had progressed from endless hedonism into solitude and introspection, and now back to something that felt like hedonism.

"We need to put a masseuse on every vessel," he muttered into the air space inside the pillow. Her thumbs started to find knots in his shoulders and smooth them out with firm pressure. 

"It took three massages to get you to decide that. I must be out of practice."

"I need to talk to you about -- "

"Shut up. Breathe. Talk tomorrow, because that feels like something the captain is about to say. Leave him on the bridge and stop thinking, or all this work will be for nothing."

He sighed, and breathed, and let her work slowly through all the tension in his shoulders, down his arms, down his legs, first the left side and then the right -- she used copious amounts of the oil that smelled faintly of almonds and vanilla, and left him feeling floppy and almost asleep. She had him turn over slowly and brought a tissue up to wipe his nose for him. Apparently, it was a common thing to have a runny nose when left face down for an extended period. She worked on his scalp and face with her warm fingers and thumbs, using just the right amount of pressure -- empathy had become his favorite thing, now -- and moved along his jaw to the back of his head again, to push her thumbs in against the base of his skull, balancing it on them, with a slight pain. When she lowered his head gently into the pillow, he felt remarkably relaxed and clear-headed, and very, very tired. Not stiff at all. 

She applied her hands to his shoulders, squeezing and pushing them down, and he opened his eyes at last -- he knew she was kneeling on the bed with his head on the pillow between her knees so she could work on his head and shoulders, as she hadn't done as she'd threatened and gone down to one of the cargo bay replicators to whip up a real massage table. 

"Can I interest you in some sleep now?" she said, smiling down at him, her face looking odd from this perspective. "At least give it a try."

"May not need much effort," he mumbled. "Thank you."

She pulled up the covers over him, swapped the doughnut for one of his regular pillows, and left him there, on his left side as he had to be to fall asleep. Her lips grazed his temple and she whispered out the lights. 

He awakened some time later, feeling much improved. It was, according to the computer, the end of alpha shift. He visited the bathroom, returned, ate a piece of cheese from the plate she'd left on the night stand, ate a few more, and asked where Deanna was. When the computer informed him she was in the first officer's quarters, he went from relaxed to startled, to concerned.

But, she was fine. He was rational, and she was the ship's counselor, and Will's friend, and wasn't he just telling Will she could make her own decisions?

He climbed back under the covers. Not hiding, he decided, just obeying doctor's orders. But he couldn't go back to sleep.

About ten eternities later, the door opened. "Jean-Luc?"

"Hm?" He shoved himself up on an elbow. 

"Are you feeling better?"

That wasn't Deanna. The tentative voice from the living room was familiar, however. "Beverly?"

"I know you tend to be very stiff, after one of those intensive treatments. I thought I would check in, I brought you a sedative."

"Oh -- I'm fine, actually. No stiffness, just a little sore."

"Really?" 

"Beverly?" That was Deanna -- he heard the other door shutting after she spoke. "Is he awake? He was asleep when I left."

He sat up, slowly, and found that he still had some minute residual stiffness in his left side. "I guess I lied. A little stiff."

Deanna came in, sat on the edge of the bed, and touched his back. "Sit up straight. There it is." She pushed her fingertips in and worked them in circular motions along his spine. 

"What are you doing?" Beverly asked, poking her head in.

"Starships need a masseuse," Jean-Luc said. He found himself clutching the covers over his lap when the doctor took a few steps into the room.

"Would you like something for dinner?" Deanna asked, removing her hand. 

"You're saying a massage helped it?" Beverly sounded dubious. "We've tried that."

"No, not the way she does it," Jean-Luc said. "She's much more thorough. Very strong hands."

"I was a trained masseuse, on Betazed," she said. "But don't tell anyone. I have a very exclusive client list and I'm not taking new clients."

"Oh," Beverly exclaimed. Then smiled slyly. "You're sure about that? I haven't had a good massage since I left Earth."

"You see why I don't tell people," Deanna said, running her hand down his bare arm. "Get dressed, let's have something to eat. Unless you'd rather go back to sleep?"

"I'll be out in a minute."

Dressing was much easier when he didn't feel like he'd turned to wood. He didn't bother with shoes, emerged to find that they had set the table. They sat down together to eat some sort of "wonderful" soup that Beverly had chosen, and spent a little time talking about places to get a good massage within the Federation. While they did that, he started to think about Will, the last thing that bothered him, the conversation in the corridor. And Deanna going to talk to him. 

"Are you sure you're all right? You seem a little... subdued," Beverly asked Jean-Luc.

"I've never had a massage before now and I don't spend time in spas, so I have little input in this conversation," he said. 

"I suppose you'd be a lousy resource for suggestions," Beverly said with a sigh. "You take vacations once a decade, and they usually involve archaeology."

Deanna watched him and sipped soup from her spoon, not commenting. Which was unusual.

He fell quiet again, thinking and finishing his soup. Beverly asked Deanna about spas on Betazed. And then she started to tell Deanna about the time Jack and Jean-Luc went on leave, and left her in a hotel spa for the day -- he listened to her version of it, right up to her retelling the part she hadn't been present to witness, which must have been a memory of what Jack had told her. And he began to cringe inside, thinking about what he remembered of that, and what he hadn't remembered at all but heard from Jack later.

"Beverly," Deanna said, interrupting as she got to the part about the women and the drunken stumble to a back room. "He's tired. We should get together for dinner again soon."

Beverly looked across the table and pressed her lips together in momentary regret. "Sorry, of course. I should know better. Do you have another headache?"

"I'm wondering what you gave me in sickbay. I would have thought the fuzziness was the exhaustion, but it feels more like something drug-related."

"It might be the little bit of sedative I added to the analgesic. I tried something a little different than the usual, hoping it would help you sleep off the stiffness. I knew it wouldn't last more than three hours which was why I came to check on you."

He looked at Deanna, remembered her chiding him, and stood up. "I need to talk to Will."

"Now?" Deanna exclaimed. 

"Yes, now. I'll be back in a -- " He wasn't even certain. His body moved more like itself, he was happy to note, as he went for the door and down the corridor toward Will's door, just a couple doors down and opposite. When the door opened he faced Will across the threshold, and they stood regarding each other with some wariness.

"Do you have a moment?"

Will stood back and waved him in, and he strode into the first officer's quarters, which were in most respects quite similar to his own, with different souvenirs. He turned to face Will instead of scrutinizing the particulars, deliberately not crossing his arms.

"I came to apologize," he said. "I was under the influence of a sedative and not myself, earlier."

It made Will take a step backward, actually start to lean as if he needed to look at him from a different angle. "I didn't realize you were hurt as badly as you were, and it was my fault for trying to address something at a bad time." He started to smile, tentatively. "That explains Deanna coming down here to check on me. Damage control."

Jean-Luc staggered to the nearest chair -- one of the loungers -- and sat heavily on the footstool in front of it. He didn't want to sit in the chair itself. "We've put her in a strange position, haven't we?"

"Well, that tells me you weren't thinking a whole lot when you took up with her, anyway," he replied with a sardonic tone that surprised Jean-Luc. He started to move back and forth, meandering a little.

"If it were a matter of thought, there would hardly be a conflict, would there?"

Will finally stopped pacing and took a seat on the end of the couch. He seemed to be expecting Jean-Luc to take the lead. 

"You were trying to tell me that you find the situation uncomfortable, that it's impacting the work."

Will hung his head, as if that reflected some failure on his part. "I think it might be. I think you might wait until you're not sedated to talk about it, as well."

"No. This is not going to wait until something happens on the bridge. What were you trying to say?"

"I actually talked to Abernathy about it, finally. And Deanna. I'd gotten used to a certain amount of attention from her, and it wasn't that I'm jealous, or that I have feelings for her in the way you think -- she's always been a friend. That's true of any intimate relationship, at the base of it you're friends, which is why it's difficult to do this -- I don't want to lose either friendship, with either of you. She pointed out to me that you and I hadn't actually done anything together in a while as we were before -- we haven't played velocity, or just sat down for a drink together. And she hasn't been sitting and chatting with me in Ten Forward, letting me run things by her, partially because she give you more time and partially because she's going to pull away as she puts more of herself into the relationship with you. She's never been my counselor but she always gave me good feedback, sometimes about how to handle... well, how to approach you about something. Like this. I couldn't figure out how to talk to you without putting you on the defense. She stopped helping me with that and told me to talk to you myself, because she doesn't want to be in the middle."

This time, Jean-Luc hesitated long enough to think about it. "On the defense?"

"You decided to shut down about personal relationships of subordinates. And it's on particular subjects, because it's inconsistent. You don't want to talk to me about more intimate parts of life, mine or yours, you don't care to hear 'gossip' about other subordinates. It makes me wonder what will happen if I try anyway."

Jean-Luc raised an eyebrow, and leaned, putting his weight in his elbows balanced on his knees. "I sound like quite a boring person. I wonder what's wrong with me."

Will snorted at that. "Nothing. Look, I know it's strange, and I really can't say I haven't thought about trying again with her -- that's not going to happen and I haven't since I figured out she was with you. But since the two of you started, things have changed, and I miss the way they were before."

"I should have known better," Jean-Luc exclaimed with a grin. "This happened with Jack when he met Beverly."

"It did?" Will was starting to smile again. 

"Except I was the odd man out." Thinking about that made him feel frustrated, for a moment, if only because it reminded him of what an idiot he had been, saying nothing and suffering in silence. "I seem to recall you run the poker games I've heard about."

"Every month. The next one is in two days, if you'd like to join us."

"Senior staff?"

"Most of the time. Wes joined us recently for the first time." He paused. "Deanna used to come more often."

"I'll talk to her about it." Jean-Luc was becoming increasingly weary. Apparently, it showed.

"You should probably get back," Will said quietly. "If you left her there waiting she's probably about to come looking for you."

Jean-Luc sighed, shook his head and stood up. Slowly -- his back had started to hurt, right where the Klingon had kicked him.

"Sorry," Will murmured, rising from the couch. "That wasn't relationship advice. I just know she's been really anxious today and it tends to make her more prone to being agitated and easily angered. You think the Klingons are bad?"

"I'll see you in the morning, Number One." 

"Yeah." He grinned and held out a hand. It was an eerie thing, exactly what Jack always did, back in the early days. But Jean-Luc took the offered hand, and winced when his shoulder complained at the single firm shake. "You really are stiff and sore."

"Well, you take on six Klingons with your bare hands and see how well you do." He knew from overhearing Worf and Will talking at the end of the last staff meeting that Will was still working on conquering the Klingon's exercise program. He ignored the sly grin that said Will knew he was being teased, and set out for home.

When he reached his quarters finally, his head was starting to feel fuzzier and his left hip wanted him to stop walking. Deanna and Beverly were still there -- both of them stood as he came in, and Deanna started to scowl at him.

"I know, I'm going," he said, waving off her concern. He kept moving into the bedroom, slowly.

"Did you settle anything?" Deanna asked.

"I think so, we'll see," he tossed over his shoulder as he went through the door. 

He was in bed within minutes, though taking off the pullover proved to be an exercise in mild pain and some wincing. Sighing, he anticipated her arrival, and wasn't disappointed. "I see Beverly decided you were able to harass me sufficiently?"

Deanna came over slowly, her hands gripping her elbows, and already he saw his mistake. The look on her face said Beverly's assessment earlier in the day had been correct, as had Will's. She stood there looking at him as if unsure of whether she might be welcome.

"Come here," he said softly.

Deanna got under the covers with him fully clothed, barely hesitating long enough to slip out of her shoes. Her arm across his chest, she draped herself against his shoulder. 

"Not sure I can stay awake," he murmured.

"You should sleep. I just need you to be safe."

He awakened some time later to discover that the lights were still on, and she was asleep, still pressed up against him but facing away, lying on her side with her hair in his face. He'd rolled on his side and had his arm resting on her waist. Tempting to ask what the time was, but he was afraid to wake her. Instead, he held her more tightly and closed his eyes again.

"Hmm, time?" Deanna mumbled, starting to move.

"The time is now four hundred twenty-two hours."

She moved away, sat up, shoved back the covers. "I'm thirsty. Do you want anything?"

"Yes, water, thank you."

He was sitting up by the time she returned with water for him. While he drank it, she pulled off the rumpled dress and climbed back in with him, and passed the empty glass to the night stand when he was done. She looked at him with tired eyes.

"I have the feeling you're going to tell me I need more sleep," he said.

"Because you do."

"You aren't even curious about what Will and I talked about," he said.

"You feel better, and he's not as frustrated. I'm fine with that."

"He said poker night is -- I suppose it's tomorrow, now."

Deanna leaned, shoulder to shoulder, and smiled. "Do you want to go?"

"If you do."

Her smile trembled, and widened. "You won't be uncomfortable?"

"I'll get over it if I am. Let's sleep a while longer?"

The next time it was the alarm, and he stopped it with a word. Now she was spooning him, with her face against the back of his neck, and her knee shoved between his thighs. It was a typical morning, after a bout with the regenerator -- he had knots in his lower back and his shoulders were stiff. Though it was certainly much less stiff than it had been the last time, probably thanks to his masseuse. 

"Do we have to get up?" She moaned and started to stretch, rolling away on her back. 

"No. There are a few kinks left for you to work out, when you're awake." Jean-Luc shoved himself into a sitting position and smiled down at her. "I can think of a few things we need to take care of, before breakfast."

"You have a few things that are a little too stiff?" She managed to look sly and sleepy all at the same time, sliding closer to him. "We shouldn't be late."

"I'm not too worried about that."


	10. Allegiance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The episode Allegiance was fun, on the surface -- make Picard sing and do other things the real Picard wouldn't do. The problem is that the aliens who are behind this version of that old Trek trope of kidnapping and replacing an officer (or possessing one) for research purposes don't quite get their experiment set up well enough. They don't understand leadership (except they understand it enough to put together concurrent experiments that baffle the crew for an episode?) and apparently don't have any friends they can ask about it. They can read the captain's thoughts, cherry pick memories, turn one of the aliens into a copy of Picard who uses those memories to attempt to be the captain and experience leadership... except that doesn't make much sense. Why not make a copy of one of the crew so they could be less intrusive, and observe leadership in action, as it is, instead of attempting to imitate a leader? Isn't the object to understand leadership -- not screw it up trying to do it? 
> 
> And then there is the glaring problem of Troi -- she proved in another episode that if you beam Picard into a nebula she can still identify him as Picard. She can tell when Locutus is being Borg vs. when he is being Picard. When Q takes Picard off the ship suddenly, she can tell that he is gone. So what is her problem in Allegiance that she does not IMMEDIATELY identify the alien as NOT Picard? She could have been off the ship for a conference. She could have gone to visit her mother. But the show writer puts her in several scenes not being consistent with herself as she is in the rest of TNG.
> 
> So, I'm not making this one a coda, but a semi-rewrite.

Will strolled down to the captain's quarters with the case full of poker paraphernalia. Beverly trotted up alongside him and grabbed his arm -- flashed him a grin. "Heading off to the game?"

"Indeed I am. We have a new location." He gestured at the captain's door, about six paces distant.

Beverly stopped walking, and he did as well, turning slightly toward her to wait. "How did you talk him into it?"

"He suggested it."

Beverly started to laugh, but stopped when he remained straight-faced. "Seriously?"

"You had to be there."

"I knew he was... he's been different," she said thoughtfully, her eyes losing a little focus as she chewed over this new information.

"You've known him a long time," Will said, repeating old news. "Surely he's played poker before. It just took a while for him to get around to it, here."

Beverly's blue eyes contemplated him. He knew he wasn't likely to get anything out of her; he'd heard from the captain himself that the past was the past, and the doctor seemed to subscribe to that as well.

"How do you feel about the two of them, together?" she asked unexpectedly, crossing her arms.

"And what does that have to do with the price of coffee on Ferenginar?"

But she didn't laugh it off with him. "Do you think it's a conflict of interest? Do you think it's a mistake?"

"Have you seen anything that suggests it is? Other than her moment on the bridge a couple days ago, I haven't seen a crack in the facade -- either of them. For a while he was even more abrupt and formal than usual." He couldn't count personal issues. The doctor wasn't talking about that. She didn't mean the things the captain had said, when his eyes were dilated due to medication and he had an angry undertone to his words that suggested the man kept a tighter lid on himself than Will had suspected.

Beverly had a pensive look -- it was a fetching one. She was lovely, actually, and smart, and probably had a temper. And she was a fellow senior officer and department head, and the captain's old friend, something that he'd decided meant that he couldn't even think about going there.

"Do you think it's a mistake?"

"I know he doesn't give a rat's ass about promotion, so maybe it isn't. What would they do if they got in trouble other than just quit Starfleet?"

"Not so simple, Doctor," Will said, thinking there were plenty of things that could be done to them if things got bad.

She sighed, and her expression softened. "Well, at least he's happier than he's been, in a long time."

"You can tell?"

"I was beginning to think we'd lost your sense of humor." She closed the distance between them and patted his arm. "We're late."

"I have the cards, we can't be late," Will exclaimed.

When they were let in, the captain waved them over to the table and offered them beer. He wore a long-sleeved rust-colored shirt, a pair of gray slacks, and didn't seem any different than usual. He moved with ease, today, instead of the slow crawl and short steps of yesterday. That had shocked him. Upon reflection and a little research, he'd come to the conclusion that it had to be regenerator rebound -- something that only happened after years of ongoing use of regenerators, causing soft tissue to stiffen temporarily after treatment. Something to look forward to, no doubt. Though it made him rethink playing around with the holodeck safeties when sparring alongside Worf against the hordes of holographic rivals.

"Wine," Beverly said. When he started for the replicator she made a disapproving noise. "I know you have some good wine squirreled away somewhere, probably next to the caviar you broke out for the welcome aboard party you threw for Kurn. Surely your first poker game aboard the Enterprise is a good enough occasion."

Will paid close attention to his captain's face. Jean-Luc nodded once, thoughtfully, and then the smile -- he moved off to his desk, against the far wall, and leaned down then came up with a dusty bottle.

"Not the Zinfandel, right?" Beverly asked with a cheesy grin.

"Nope," Jean-Luc said, putting the bottle on the green felt Will had just smoothed over the table. "Just a Malbec. I think the corkscrew was left somewhere... there it is." He went to the end table under the viewports and plucked it up from between a lamp and a pile of books.

"Why not the Zinfandel? Don't we rate a Zinfandel?" Will asked, exchanging a look with Beverly -- a wide-eyed one asking her what that was about.

"Deanna's favorite wine. He probably doesn't have much of it left by now," Beverly said, watching Jean-Luc wind the screw down into the cork on the table in front of her.

Will stacked chips in the middle of the table for distribution. "Where is everyone?" he asked. "Geordi, Data, Worf, they all know where we are. Deanna?"

"She went to the school. As for the rest, your guess is as good as mine." Jean-Luc extracted the cork from the bottle with a yank and went to the replicator, to ask for four glasses. He was counting on Deanna, at least.

"Jean-Luc," Will said. It got his attention -- he stopped and looked, his body following the turn of the head, as he returned with the stems of four glasses between his fingers, two per hand. "Thanks for hosting the game."

A classic Picard smile, in response to that -- subdued, but speaking volumes just the same. He was back in his captain's good graces. Just like that. He placed the four glasses on the table and left the task of pouring to Beverly. "Are we supposed to have snacks?"

"We usually start with a bowl of popcorn and let people get other things as desired," Beverly said. "You remember how to play?"

"It's been a few centuries, but yes."

Beverly gave Will a look that said she was tired of this sort of talk. "You're not Vulcan -- stop acting like you're ancient."

"You saw me yesterday. Are you refuting the evidence that I've been doing this too long? I could hardly walk, Beverly."

Beverly frowned. Will understood why; that sounded a lot like retirement talk. Which was, he supposed, a logical next step. Find a house and settle down with the pretty woman he'd managed to fall for, despite his staunch opposition to fraternization with the crew. It had been a toss-up in Will's mind, between personal reasons for that rule versus professional. He'd decided both were in play. Nothing in Picard's file said anything about any reprimand related to fraternization, though.

At that point, the conversation shifted -- as Jean-Luc returned with the popcorn, the door opened. That meant it was Deanna, everyone else would have rung the doorbell. And as the popcorn bowl was plunked on the table, Jean-Luc turned and stopped cold, at the sight of Deanna with her upset face on, striding into the room with her skirt whipping around her legs. She shifted on the fly, but it was too little, too late.

But Jean-Luc didn't meet Will's expectations. He said nothing. He also didn't greet her, simply looked at her, and she came to him with a happy expression that suggested she'd fallen hard and it was going well. Her hand brushed his arm, and she glanced at Beverly with a smile, and at Will with a slightly-warmer smile.

Will thought, as he smiled back at her, that he'd been right. It wasn't just a temporary thing, and it wasn't something he might have predicted. He knew the captain had been her client, and knew she never breached that boundary. And yet she had. Just as he had broken his own rules. She was changing.

She was a Troi, after all. It started to make him question himself, his memories of what they'd been together. To think of it sometimes at night with a different perspective -- a less rosy and fond one.

Deanna smiled anew as she noticed the wine. She'd started to wear dresses in blues and greens more often, currently wore a sea green outfit with her usual tights and heels.

"Is that -- "

"Not the Zinfandel," Beverly said. "There's a glass with your name on it, though."

"Oh, all right," Deanna said with a grin, coming to pick up one of the glasses. She sniffed it. "Oh."

Jean-Luc looked at her across the table, where he was dragging a couple of stacks of chips to himself. "That doesn't sound promising."

"It's fine. I think."

"Mmm hmmm," Jean-Luc said with no conviction. "There's a chardonnay if you don't like the Malbec."

Will started to shuffle the cards with the ease of someone who'd been doing it forever. "You're feeling better today," he said with an easy smile that invited one in return. Jean-Luc was in a good mood, had been all day, had bounced onto the bridge with renewed enthusiasm that he was sure the captain would stifle, if he knew how easy it was to tell he'd been rolling around in the sheets with his girlfriend. Maybe that was something to tell him. But not with the ladies in the room.

Will set aside the deck and tapped his badge. "Riker to Data -- will you be joining us tonight?"

"I will not be able to come to the game, Commander. I am looking for Spot." The android had surprised them all by adopting a kitten, his new obsession, and the animal was faster than his owner. Spot had darted out the door as Data entered several times, this was just the latest. "I am in Jeffries tube B25 with a tricorder but he is fast and when I catch up to him -- "

"Okay, Data, we'll see you next time. Hope you find him soon." Will tried Geordi next, and predictably he was helping Wes with a project. When he was off duty, Worf was either in the holodeck working off the anger or holed up in his quarters performing some ritual -- from the looks of it that would be a week-long thing. Deanna had tried to talk to Worf earlier in the day and returned to the bridge looking alarmed.

"Guess it's just us, then, deal 'em," Beverly said, tapping the table with three fingers. He started to pitch cards around.

"How do we know she isn't cheating?" Jean-Luc asked. He had to be teasing, though he didn't appear to be. Deanna didn't react to it, just looked at her cards.

"Because we beat her sometimes." Beverly watched Will toss out ten, Deanna as well, and put in twenty of her own. "Are you going to the concert next week?"

"After we're done addressing the plague we're moving on to the negotiations that were postponed," Jean-Luc said. "I'm not sure I'll have the time, we have a lot of preparing to do. I need to have an extensive understanding of Gemarian law."

"I think you should take time off after this negotiation, it sounds intense," Beverly said, looking at Jean-Luc with a mischievous glint in her eye.

Will played cards and listened to what he hadn't thought he might hear, the doctor teasing the captain without consequence. A few scathing looks here and there, but nothing like the scowls Will had gotten over the past months. Then again, it was clear that Beverly had history with him and knew when not to push her luck. She wasn't saying a word about Deanna, or the relationship, other than to suggest in a sly manner various places he might take leave, usually spots that were famously romantic.

And then she changed it up. Will dealt another round of cards, swept up his hand from the table, and almost flinched when Beverly said, "You know, she loves a good hot spring. The best ones are on Risa."

Will's gaze went to Deanna, and she was looking back at him -- that had been where she waited for him, years ago, when he'd taken a promotion instead. She smiled, and he smiled, at the memory -- that had been forgiven already. Deanna turned the smile to Beverly, on her right hand. "I spent a couple of weeks there sunning on the beaches and soaking in the springs -- it's a lovely place. Something for everyone. There's a resort with all of that, beaches and hot springs, and a stable, and a wonderful restaurant -- the wine list is probably five pages long. And," she said with a dramatic pause and a cheeky grin at Jean-Luc, "there is a spa with all the amenities."

"Hm." Jean-Luc appeared to be more involved in his cards than in thinking about that.

"You should go," Will said. "They have a great reputation for giving you whatever you want. If that's a chair and a book, it's what you get."

"I doubt there's anyone in Starfleet who doesn't know about Risa," Jean-Luc said, as if bored. "Thirty." The chip landed in the little pile in the center of the table.

"Ogawa to Crusher," came the summons out of thin air.

"Yes," Beverly said, sitting back from the table.

"We have a man with a respiratory issue -- it looks bad, we need you," They could hear the gasping in the background, and someone asking someone else what happened.

"I'm on my way. Sorry, guys," she exclaimed, rushing out the door.

"What were you doing at the school?" Will asked, tossing in a chip.

"I can't talk about clients, you know better," Deanna said. "Maybe we should just talk. I don't know if we'll have a better opportunity."

"About?"

"It's obvious that there are some issues for each of us, and that misunderstandings have developed. I think the three of us need to be clear about how this has to work, and if we can't get to an understanding... there are choices to make."

So she was to that point, already, thinking about drastic measures. Will dropped his hand on the deck and leaned back, arms crossed. Jean-Luc put down his cards as well, and did the same. "What misunderstanding is there?"

She sighed heavily and stared at the tabletop. "Have you resolved the issue with Will to your satisfaction?"

"I think you misinterpreted some of my concerns, and I know you're misinterpreting some of my relationships with the crew." Will spoke directly to Deanna. "I think we should start there. I think that your assumptions are coloring his opinion of me."

Deanna blinked, and instead of being upset she surprised him by sitting calmly. "Go on."

"Let me start by explaining some things I thought were obvious," he said. "My job requires a lot of contact with a lot of crew. The captain made it clear I was running interference for him -- he doesn't want to deal with the kids, and I'm expected to be the -- I think you said the 'image of geniality' on your behalf. Deanna, you come at me upset and tell me I'm breaking hearts right and left, and I tried to tell you that the ensigns who would normally be developing a crush on the captain were becoming people that I had to fend off, politely and carefully without causing them any more pain than they already inflict on themselves, and of course they come to you for consolation. Of course they want you to believe they were the injured party. I've had dates, don't get me wrong -- I had an interest here and there, and even a couple of nights with someone, but those were the ones you didn't hear from."

The wounded look in her eyes was expected. But she couldn't argue with the truth she could sense. She had both her hands on the felt in front of her, and picked up a chip and started to turn it over and over in her fingers. "I think the simplest thing for me to do at this point is to resign."

That led to both of them staring at her in shock. "Don't start jumping to conclusions," Jean-Luc said at last. He sounded more like the captain, in his reassuring mode. "Explain that reasoning, please."

Will appreciated the nuanced way he ordered her to use reason, instead of just melting down -- this was a point with Deanna that he had reached in the past. Trying to calm her down first and then talk it through had had mixed results. Deanna looked at Jean-Luc, and Will smiled a little at the way she calmed and blinked back a few tears. There was definitely something different going on with her, in this relationship.

"I should be able to be objective enough to deal with things like this," she said. "My choices have been terrible. I've been an obstruction to two missions...."

Will's head jerked toward Jean-Luc, when he started to chuckle. "My god, that sounds familiar. Singlehandedly destroying everything by being human. Get back to me when you've crashed a few shuttlecraft and blown up the wrong target."

To his surprise, Deanna started to laugh despite still looking wretched. She was tired, and planted an elbow on the table so she could prop up her head. "Okay. But this -- we wouldn't be here talking about this if I had done my job well enough."

"So you're going to tell me that my insecurities have nothing to do with it," Jean-Luc said. It led to both of them staring at him, as he picked up the near-empty wine glass in front of him. "If I had stopped being anxious, about everything, I wouldn't have let that narrative take over for me."

She started to laugh wearily, again. "You sound like a therapist."

"Wait, what did you say?" Will asked, hardly believing his ears. Neither of them were meeting his expectations of how he had expected this conversation to go.

"It's not going to help me to hide it from you," Jean-Luc said. "I hate therapy and I hate breaking a boundary that I just proved needs to be there. But it's not helped at all for me to be silent. I realize that in reality, there's no reason for me to be self conscious about my relationship skills with anyone -- but the fact is that my past is littered with personal betrayals and failures, and that part of my life is overwhelming for me. Deanna told me to go work with Abernathy, she worked with me before as much as I would allow -- but what I was lacking was the motivation to actually do anything about those old wounds."

"I know how you feel," Will said. "I'm right there with you. When I approach one of you I can't stop trying to explain, and it shoots me in the foot. I can't talk about the personal with the captain, I can't talk to the counselor without offending her. I went to Deanna and tried to talk to her about the impact on communication between us, but I started out wrong, by telling her I was thinking about her relationship with you and wanted to talk to her about how that impacted me, so she thought that confronting her about you was the real intent and we never got to the real point of the conversation because she decided she didn't want to talk about you with me. I did the same thing to you yesterday, started to talk about my concerns, and it sounded like all it did was bring up yours."

"If I had listened to her sooner, it wouldn't be a problem," Jean-Luc said. "She told me that we should meet. Be more open about all of this."

"If I had not allowed myself to hesitate in pushing you to -- "

Will flung up both hands. "We're all stupid. Fine. So what do we do now?"

Deanna gave him that warm smile of encouragement that he hadn't seen in a while. "Our jobs?"

"I think you were right, Will. I think there's this settling in period, and then there's an adjustment. What else needs adjusting?"

Will came forward again and meshed his fingers, leaning with forearms on the table. "Your expectations need adjusting. I can't just shut up and go away because you don't want to talk about it."

"That should be easier to do, now," Deanna said. "So will approaching me. I'm sorry, Will. I'm going to be less defensive than I've been."

"Let's see if I get this right. You know he's anxious and I'm anxious, and you don't want to get involved, at least until you can get us to sit down together with you to avoid giving either one of us the idea that you're taking sides, or talking behind our backs." Will started to eat the popcorn a few kernels at a time.

Deanna's sad smile and nod helped, a lot, to reassure him the tide had turned. "I owe both of you an apology for venting without thinking. That contributed to the problem."

"I think this illustrates neatly why we have checks and balances, and what happens when three of them stop checking and balancing. Are we going to start again?"

"Yes, sir," Will said with a grin. He thought about it, but decided it was too soon for a tease.

"Otherwise Beverly's going to kill all three of us," Jean-Luc continued. "She likes this ship. Her son works here, you know. It would be a pity to have to give it up to Walker Keel."

"Or Robert DeSoto," Will put in.

"And you have an obligation, you know," Deanna said, reaching for the wine bottle to pour herself a little more. "Will doesn't want to leave -- and I like it here too. I'd like to see the family stay together."

"We can't forget Data, and Worf. They'd be orphaned," Will said.

Jean-Luc started to chuckle. He ran a hand over his head. "I was just thinking I'd completely misunderstood -- I thought we were sticking around for Geordi."

Will retrieved the case from the floor and started to collect and put away the cards and the chips. "Anything else we need to talk about? I think I'll head off to my quarters. Now that there's an understanding we can talk about the rest of this on duty."

"I should apologize to each of you, in turn," Jean-Luc said. "For being unclear, and irrational. Because I think that if I had been clearer, more willing to actually address this with you instead of thinking you were... I'm not even clear on what I thought you were going to do. I wasn't addressing this as it should have been."

"I knew what you wanted me to do. I tried to do it, but there were questions -- but we can talk about that tomorrow." Will closed the case and stood up. "Good night. Thanks for the wine."

"Good night," Jean-Luc returned, sounding like his usual self again.

Deanna watched him retreat out the door -- he glanced back and caught her at it, and smiled in reply. But she didn't smile and there was a seriousness in her eyes that he found unsettling. In the corridor with the door closed behind him, he exhaled and struck off for home.

\-------------------------

The captain arrived on the bridge the following morning in a much more sedate manner, and came to the middle of the bridge to be updated on the night's activities. Will had come in from the other lift at the same time and was there for the update from Data, who'd been on duty. The gamma shift had taken care of beaming down supplies to the planet, to locations scattered across the colony for their medical personnel to disseminate them. Will followed him into the ready room at his request.

"Coffee?" Jean-Luc offered as he strode back to the replicator.

"No, thank you." Will watched him bring coffee and a small sandwich of some kind back with him. "You didn't have breakfast with Deanna?" He immediately regretted that question. Jean-Luc didn't answer.

Instead of a glare, which he would have gotten before, he watched the captain sigh and contemplate the top of the desk with a strange expression. "The reason for my strict personal code against fraternization is that it is wrong," he said.

Will gaped for a moment. "Okay," he said tentatively.

"It compromises objectivity," Jean-Luc continued. "Clouds your thinking."

"So... it's off again?"

Jean-Luc scowled at him. "Oh, no. I wouldn't do that to her."

"Maybe I'll have that coffee. I'll get it." Rather than sit there looking confused, he went to the replicator. "So no heartbreak, but -- what, then?"

"Things are only impossible until they are not."

"So it's wrong, because it's going to cause problems, but you're not going to let it cause problems." He returned with the coffee, sweet with cream, and sat down.

"I like the way you think, Number One."

"I look forward to seeing how it all works out. Maybe you'll even name your first child after me."

It almost made Jean-Luc drop his coffee.

"You know she wants children, right? Even if she changed her mind you can bet Lwaxana will demand it until there's grandchildren." Will sat down and used the coffee mug to hide his smile.

The captain recovered from that quickly enough. "Haven't talked about that. What were you not saying while she was in the room?"

Will leaned back and crossed his legs. "I'm concerned that she's losing her equilibrium."

Picard blinked at that, but didn't give away much. "In what sense?"

Will thought about Deanna as she was, years ago, and how much she had changed. It wasn't fair to compare -- she was far and away more mature and stable. He didn't want to go there, but feared that starting to explain his concern would lead there. He drank coffee, and inspiration struck. Picard sometimes approached things obliquely, he'd heard Deanna do the same.

"Well, you know that I was on Betazed for a couple of years. I don't know if you've known any Betazoids, specifically empaths, before? Doesn't appear that there are many of them signing up."

"A few, but you're right, I haven't met another empath before her."

"There's a general consensus that they can be easily overwhelmed, by the emotional climate they're in, so they're -- I always got the impression that the full bloods regarded them as fragile. A subtle thing, but you get an idea of it from her mother, if you pay attention. And with that sort of thing it can lead to the empath believing the bad press, because it's not exactly an explicit thing. They do all right -- they overcompensate sometimes though, a reaction to being considered 'less than,' and if they think they're overreacting or making mistakes -- "

"You're saying she's taking too much responsibility on herself, for some of what's transpired. Except nothing's happened."

Will shrugged. "Not according to the therapist. Relationships, emotional states, stress as it impacts the crew -- you know how seriously she takes her work. She knows how seriously you take yours. She knows that things she does and says will have an impact on your reputation -- you don't want to hear it," he said, answering the scowl, "but you know what I'm talking about. Otherwise you wouldn't be talking like you're about to retire."

Picard lost some of the ire. "You're repeating things I've already considered back at me. You can't imagine I haven't actually spoken to her more than once?"

And then they were both leaning back with coffee, smirking at each other about it all. Will sighed. "If we can get her to stop walking around like a bomb is about to go off, it'll help the crew settle. We've all seen her as calm and serene as we know she can be, sitting in Ten Forward with her hot chocolate. But not for weeks, now. She's our bellwether. People look at her face and think they can tell what's going on up here, on the bridge. She's senior staff."

"This is why it's a bad idea," Jean-Luc said, again. "I don't like manipulation."

"Okay, back up," Will exclaimed, holding up an open hand. "What I'm saying is that she needs to feel confident and be herself again. How is that a bad thing?"

"She isn't going to feel that way unless we do," he replied.

"My concern isn't your career. I'm just the friend trying to understand how to protect the best interests of my friends."

"If I left, you would get the Enterprise, you know," Jean-Luc said casually.

Will sighed, tapping his cup against his chin. "If you left it wouldn't be the same. We'd all miss you."

"Crusher to Picard."

"Picard here."

"I'm taking two teams to the surface, to assist with the worst cases of plague -- we're taking all precautions."

"Acknowledged. Check in with the bridge every hour with status updates."

"Yes, sir. Crusher out."

And then the annunciator went off. "That would be my cue, I suppose. I'll be on the bridge." Will stood, returned the coffee cup to the replicator slot, and was on his way out as Wesley Crusher came in. He exchanged a smile with the ensign as they passed each other.

This kind of mission was a matter of organization and minding the shop while specialists did the work. He didn't mind the quiet. It gave him time to think.

Wes lasted about twenty minutes, and came out to take the helm -- a boring job but Will was sure that Wes spent the time calculating and designing his next project in his head. Then Data arrived, back from the break he would take between gamma and alpha, displacing Ensign Watts at ops.

"Sir," Wes said, swiveling his chair. "Permission to ask a question?"

"Granted -- what's up, Wes?"

"I'm working on -- " When the lift opened at the top of the bridge, Wes' eyes went up and stuck there -- followed the incoming person down the ramp and then the ensign smiled. "Hi, Counselor."

"Hi, Wes," Deanna said warmly. She shot a smile at Will and waved a finger toward the ready room. "Is he busy?"

"Probably looking up legal code for the negotiation. No one's in there," Will said, knowing full well she could tell but observing the usual formalities.

She turned and went to the door, graceful as usual, and was admitted to the ready room without delay. Wes was watching her with an odd amount of interest -- but that was a teenager, after all. Deanna wasn't difficult to appreciate on a superficial level.

"Ensign?"

Wes shook himself a little and shrugged, and opened his mouth -- and paused. "Have you heard the rumor, sir?"

"Rumor?"

Data, obviously not doing more than checking readings, turned his head to look at the boy. Will gazed at him with a straight face and waited.

"Well... about -- " He glanced at the ready room door.

"You need to remember where you are, Ensign," Will said quietly, but with an intensity that hopefully carried enough scolding.

Wes spun about to mind his station. "Sorry, sir."

After the first check in from Dr. Crusher, Will stood and went to the ready room himself, again. He found Deanna seated across the desk from the captain -- upright, hands steepled on her knee, legs crossed. She looked up at him with one of her calm expressions.

"What's bothering you, Will?" the captain asked.

"I need to be able to talk to senior staff about this," he said.

Picard leaned back -- he'd been reading from the monitor, evidently, probably the information about the Gemarians. "All right. If you see the need."

Deanna's eyes clouded a little. "Do we get to know what you're telling them."

"You don't trust me?"

She smiled, but one of the mocking little curls of the lip -- tipped her chin at him dismissively. He smirked and left them to their studies.

When he emerged on the bridge, Wes' head swerved right back to his console as if he'd been caught. Data was speaking. " -- believe that this is a matter for you to concern yourself with."

"Okay, Mr. Data, Mr. Crusher, in the observation lounge," Will exclaimed.

Data's head twitched as it did when something surprised him, and he rose to head into the briefing room opposite the ready room. Wes hopped to it, as well. Will followed them in and stood with them in front of a viewport, none of them taking a seat.

"I want to make something clear to you," he began. Then had to pause, to find the right wording. "The only business that belongs on the bridge is Starfleet business. I know that sometimes we get casual, when nothing's going on, and we can chat back and forth -- but when that's happened, do you remember anyone chatting about ship's gossip?"

"I do not," Data said. "The captain does not approve of intrusive behavior. Sharing personal information about third parties carries with it the potential for harm. On a starship the community is small -- relationships with other crew are more critical to -- "

"Yes, thank you, Data. Do you have any questions, Mr. Crusher?"

He clearly did, but hesitated open-mouthed and seemed in a quandary.

"Speak freely, get it over with," Will said.

"I -- just didn't want to, you know, gossip or anything, about the captain, but I know fraternization is something Starfleet doesn't approve of, and I was worried."

Will sighed, and tried for a smile. "Wes, I get it. But it's not that simple. Officers 'fraternize' all the time. When it becomes a problem called fraternization, it's because someone let that become an impediment to duty."

Wes stared at him for a minute. "So you're okay with it?"

"It's not a matter of being 'okay' with it, Starfleet has no interest in interfering in our personal lives. In fact, they recognize that we'll have friends, and captains perform weddings on starships all the time."

"That is true," Data put in helpfully. "If Mr. O'Brien proposes to Keiko as he plans to, we will all be attending the wedding."

"But it's different, isn't it, if it's the captain, or you?" Wes was either really good at the bemused, innocent child look or quite naive.

"By the time you get a few more pips, handling this sort of thing isn't so difficult." Not exactly true -- but it would take a few more pips, and perhaps another decade or two of growth, for Wes to really understand the problem.

"Then you approve of the captain and Deanna being together," Data said in that pleasant, eager manner he had.

"Data," he exclaimed, frustrated, and caught himself before he could blurt anything else. "Approval isn't the point. This is the bridge. We are officers. It is not an officer's place to approve or disapprove of a personal relationship between anyone. Except, as noted, in cases where fraternization has interfered with an officer's performance in the line of duty."

"Then perhaps we can talk about this at the next poker game."

Will nodded, smiled, and inhaled, exhaled, refocused. "We don't gossip at poker games. Data, I understand that you're curious, but you don't talk about people behind their backs. I thought we established that."

"I understand. But I have questions, about relationships."

"Then I suggest you make an appointment and ask Counselor Troi," Will said. "Anything else? Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir," Wes was back to normal again, from his expression.

"Back to your posts."

Will watched them leave the briefing room and then sagged against the table. Smiled ruefully, mostly at himself and the situations he sometimes found himself in. Maybe not taking the promotion had been a mistake.

The door opened, and the captain came in, bringing him upright in a second. But Picard was relaxed, looking at him with what appeared to be a little regret. "Do you know what the real problem is, with Starfleet?"

"What's that, sir?"

Amazingly, Picard sighed, rolled his eyes, looked sheepish and crossed his arms. "On the one hand, we have a job to do, and we're expected to do it in conditions that separate us from family and friends. On the other hand, we develop a second family, and it's difficult to articulate even to ourselves what they mean to us. How it plays out while on duty sometimes surprises us. There was a lieutenant -- "

For a moment he was on the verge of telling a story. Will hesitated to respond, it might disrupt the momentum that had brought Picard to it, but then as it sometimes happened, the captain waved it away -- actually waved a hand as if shooing it away -- and switched directions.

"I've seen things go wrong," he said finally. "When people jump in with both feet, don't consider the possible ramifications of their decisions. Which is why I don't allow myself the luxury of fantasizing about anyone in my own crew. I don't socialize."

"But that's not true on the Enterprise. You fence with interested crew, you come to concerts -- we're still playing velocity this afternoon, right?"

Picard gazed at him with a raised eyebrow. "Yes. Anyway, what I was trying to tell you -- I appreciate that you haven't been pushing me, one way or the other. It would be easy for you to fall into the usual dichotomy of trying to keep me toeing the hard line or to be less... myself."

"You're welcome," Will said. "Did she tell you to come talk to me?"

"Not in so many words."

"She's anxious. She worries, about both of us." He tried not to smile. "I just had to tell Wes and Data to work, not gossip, on the bridge."

"Hm. Are you reminding me of the same, then? Save the idle chitchat for after hours?"

Will grinned. "There's a line we walk, isn't there? Aren't you supposed to be studying?"

"Yes. And I shall continue to do so." He turned toward the door.

"I'll let you know if anything comes up."

They emerged and the captain beelined across to the ready room, vanishing again as Will settled in the center chair. He glanced at the backs of heads and at the readouts on the monitors -- flicking through screens showing ship's status.

Deanna left the ready room and then the bridge, without looking at him, an hour later. Probably heading to appointments in her office. Will noted her unusual preoccupation and returned to thoughts of the near future, and what their next assignment was likely to bring.

\---------------

The end of shift coincided with the return of the last team from the planet's surface, so Will ordered the ship out of orbit and started to give the order to go to warp.

"Commander, ship's sensors detect an abnormal energy reading in the captain's quarters," Data announced.

It brought Will to his feet. "Type?"

"Undetermined."

"Riker to Captain Picard," Will exclaimed. There was no answer. Behind him, Worf ordered a security team to captain's quarters, and exited the bridge almost at a run.

Will crossed his arms and waited, contemplating a yellow alert, or a red alert, when the report came back from Worf.

"Worf to bridge. The captain is present and reading a book. There is no sign of an anomalous energy source."

"Thank you, Mr. Worf. Mr. Crusher, warp four." Will sat down again. "Mr. Data, you may want to run a diagnostic on sensors. Sounds like a glitch to me."

"Aye, sir." Data started to work at his console on that.

Will heard the lift door open, and then Deanna hurried down to face him -- she stood looking down at him with wide-eyed dismay, her arms crossed across her abdomen.

"Counselor?"

"Commander, the captain is gone," she exclaimed. "He's no longer aboard."

Data's head came around with a jerk, as did Wesley's. Will stared at her in shock. "Worf just said he was in his quarters," he exclaimed. "Reading a book."

"But -- " Her mouth worked for a moment, then she started to shake her head. "No, it's not him. I can sense something new -- there's an alien presence. The captain isn't aboard."

"Come with me. Mr. Data, you have the bridge."

She followed him from the bridge. In the lift, he put a hand on her shoulder. "Deanna, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, nothing is wrong with me," she exclaimed. "I know what I sense. I know he's not aboard! We shouldn't go anywhere until -- "

"Hang on, just wait."

She gave him a hard, angry look, but subsided and glared at the wall of the lift. It stopped, and they went down the corridor to the captain's door. And were let in, by the captain, who smiled at them just as he always did.

"Commander. Counselor. Is something wrong?"

Will glanced around, trying to be casual about it. "Is there? Sensors picked up a strange energy surge in your quarters."

"That's what Worf said." Picard glanced at Deanna. "You appear to be upset. Are you all right?" He spoke almost in an offhanded manner, not even in the somewhat warm tone of their captain.

Deanna stared at him as if he'd told her some dire news. She seemed on the verge of tears.

Will opened his mouth to speak, but Picard stepped toward her and pulled her into his arms, patting her back as if to comfort her. The horror in her face startled Will all over again, and then she pulled away from him and backed away as if he had turned into something dangerous.

"You've made your choice, then," Picard said softly. "You don't want to be with me after all."

"I don't want to be with you," she said indignantly. "What have you done with Captain Picard?"

The stare from Picard was nothing unusual, Will thought. But then he started to speak again. "You were in love with him. I understand. You should be with someone you love." Picard smiled at Will, then, as if he'd just mentioned it might rain today. "You should be together, Will."

That led to gaping, on Will's part. Deanna couldn't contain herself. "He has no feelings, Will. He's not the captain. I don't know what he's done with Captain Picard but this is not him, it's not Jean-Luc at all, you know he would never say these things!"

Picard's mild surprise wasn't consistent with what Will would have expected after such a pronouncement, either. "Deanna, I know this has been upsetting but there's no reason to accuse me of -- "

"What have you done with him? Where is he?" Deanna lunged at the man she claimed wasn't Picard. He backed away, his calf colliding with the coffee table and jarring a glass of brandy sitting there. Holding up both hands as if he could fend her off, he sidestepped and came to a stop.

"Riker to Crusher -- can you report to the captain's quarters," Will said.

"Will," Picard said, now shifting to placate him.

"I don't know what's really going on here, but I'm going to figure it out," Will said. "Deanna, maybe you should go wait in your quarters." He gave her a look. She nodded, and whirled to stride off out the door.

"Commander, are we under way?"

"Yes, we are." Will eyed the man critically. "So you're giving up on her that easily?"

A smirk at that. Picard waved a hand dismissively. "You know how it is. I want you to change course. The Lonka cluster -- how long will it take to get there?"

Will leaned away slightly, as if a few inches of distance might give him the perspective to clear up the matter. The chime went off, and he glanced at the door, then back at the man who looked like Picard but sounded increasingly insane. "That depends on how fast we travel, as you know. Why would you want us to go there when we're supposed to be heading for Gemaris Five?"

"Can't tell you that, Number One." He smiled, looking eerily like the captain. "You know that I prefer to keep you informed, but this is a need-to-know."

"Got it," Will said. "You know, I thought you would be more concerned about Deanna than this."

"We talked about how inappropriate fraternization is, Will."

"We did. We also talked about how much you care about her. And now you don't care at all."

Picard stared at him as if at a loss, and the chime sounded again. Will went and manually opened the door from the inside, and Beverly strode in with an alarmed expression, medical tricorder in hand. "I want you to examine him and tell me if there is anything about him that might indicate that he is not Captain Picard."

"Yes, sir," Beverly said, with a little affronted surprise. Picard stared at her now and continued to watch her as if she might bite him, as she began to scan him up and down.

"Deanna said he's not the captain," Will said.

Beverly glanced up from the tricorder at Will. "I'm not seeing anything that suggests that he isn't, but if Deanna says he isn't the captain -- "

"Doctor, please," Picard exclaimed. "This is entirely unnecessary. Deanna's simply upset."

Now the doctor was backing up a few steps, a concerned frown in place. "Captain, won't you come to sickbay?"

"Doctor?" Picard matched her frown -- then smiled again, held out both hands to her, appealing to her. "Beverly. We've meant so much to each other over the years. Won't you stay for dinner?"

"I -- Captain, I'm afraid I'm going to have to make that an order, to come to sickbay," she said firmly, her cheeks turning pink.

 "I hardly think that's necessary. I believe I gave you an order, Commander, to change course?"

Will crossed his arms. "What about the negotiations on Gemaris Five?"

"They'll have to be postponed, of course. You should be on the bridge, Number One."

"And I intend to go to the bridge after you have gone to sickbay to let Dr. Crusher examine you further."

That led to a standoff -- Picard appeared to be at a loss for words again, something else that wasn't normal. Beverly looked at Will beseechingly, but the problem was that there hadn't been anything so far that could stand up on its own as a reason to relieve him of duty. 

"If you're not going to sickbay willingly I'm calling security back to escort you there," Will said at last. 

That resulted in a very Picard-ish look of frustration. "Commander, you have yet to follow my order."

"Tell me something that will make me believe that you shouldn't follow mine," Will exclaimed. "I'd really like to hear it. Something that would make me think that Deanna is wrong, and you're actually who you are pretending to be."

Another blank stare -- Will glanced at Beverly. She shook her head. "We need to do something, Will."

"We need to find our captain. You need to tell us where you are keeping him," Will intoned, leaning forward. "Are you Q? How did you get him off the ship?"

Picard sidled away from them a few steps. "I'm not sure what you are babbling about, Number One."

"I think you know things, somehow, but you don't have enough context to understand what you're saying. I think you're here to sabotage us, or to take the ship into some sort of trap."

"You don't trust me," Picard said, sounding unconcerned and unemotional -- like Data. Deanna was right. What emotion appeared to be there seemed forced, and sometimes there was none at all.

"Because you are not Jean-Luc Picard," Will exclaimed. "You look like him, you sound like him, but you don't act like him -- he wouldn't do what you did to Deanna."

Beverly held her tricorder in both hands as if wanting to use it like a club. "What did he do to her?" she snapped.

"We talked about -- "

"You appear to have his memories, so you know what we talked about. What you don't appear to have is the awareness of the emotions he had, for any of us."

"There have been occasions -- I know you think this is some sort of alien plot -- "

"Look, whoever you are, you can give up on this pretense of being the captain," Will exclaimed. "I don't care what your motive is, you aren't getting this ship. Riker to Worf -- bring a security team to the captain's quarters."

"On my way," Worf snapped.

Picard's head came up slightly at that. Then a bright light briefly obscured the captain -- a few seconds later an alien with a strangely-contoured skull and a blue body suit stood there in his place. "The experiment has been compromised. It is over."

"What?" Will exclaimed, and moments later more flashes of light -- and the captain stood there with another alien.

"Number One," he exclaimed, as the door opened and Worf barrelled inside closely followed by four of his security officers. In a flash, the two aliens were gone again.

"Are you all right?" Beverly asked even as the tricorder came up to check him.

"Of course. I'm fine -- they were experimenting in order to understand leadership and authority, something they apparently lacked as their society was telepathic and completely egalitarian," the captain said.

"Sir," Worf exclaimed, seeking direction.

"Again, he appears to be authentic -- so far as I can tell he's Captain Picard," Beverly exclaimed. "But I'd like to take him to sickbay to be sure."

The captain nodded. "Of course."

"Thank you, Mr. Worf, you're dismissed," Will said, sending security on their way. Worf gave him a stern look but nodded and followed his officers. "Let's go. I'm coming along."

The captain followed the doctor, glancing back at Will. "I understand they had a duplicate here? They explained that their experiment had been compromised, prior to bringing me back here."

"Yes. Deanna alerted us that he wasn't what he appeared to be from the outset. Then he started to -- um," Will faltered, as they were coming down the corridor toward the lift and Deanna's door opened just ahead of them. She stood there with her hands clasped in front of her, clearly nervous. The three of them halted as they reached her -- Will and Beverly exchanged a look.

"Captain," Deanna said, in a tight voice that suggested she might cry. To most she probably would have sounded calm, but Will knew her 'tells.'

Jean-Luc stared for a moment. "What did he do?" he asked, softly, the concern audible.

Deanna bit her lower lip and shook her head, unable to look at him any longer. "It doesn't matter. I'm glad you're back."

"They're taking me to sickbay. I'll be back in a while."

"Okay," she said, a smile flitting over her lips as she turned and went back into her quarters.

"Let's go through the motions," Beverly said, gesturing toward the lift.

"Will, what did the replica do in my absence?" Jean-Luc sounded more like the captain -- exasperated, almost angry.

"Nothing you can't fix. Although I suspect you'll want some quantity of chocolate to help you do it."

The thorough scans in sickbay took about twenty minutes to do, and once sprung from such torture the captain was on his way. Will watched him go, then turned to Beverly, who inclined her head toward her office -- he followed her as requested but didn't have a chance to sit down. Beverly turned to him with crossed arms.

"Will, about what that alien said -- there has never been anything between me and the captain."

"All right." Will smiled a little, at her incredulous look. "Seriously, I believe you -- I can believe that there might have been something he thought about once upon a time, because he'd have to be a eunuch not to -- I can also believe he'd never say a word. So as far as I'm concerned, he pissed off Deanna and tried to get me to change course for some system without inhabitable worlds for reasons we'll not ever know, and then we got the captain back and all's well that ends well."

Beverly loosened a little, from her tightly-crossed arms and hunched shoulders, raising her eyes to his and smiling a little. "All right. Because it really wouldn't -- I think -- "

"Didn't happen," Will said, gripping her shoulder gently. "Relax."

"Okay. Thanks, Commander."

"Aren't you off shift now?"

She sighed, finally losing the tension. "I'm so glad that situation resolved so easily," she exclaimed, putting her palms to her forehead. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'm going to Ten Forward. Want to come? You look like you could use a drink."

Beverly stared at him, dropped her hands to the pockets of her blue lab coat, and considered. "Sure. All right."

Will led her out of sickbay. When they got to Ten Forward, it was busier than usual, and they took the last tiny table along the viewports. Apparently one of the ensigns in operations was having a birthday party so the place was busy with goldenrod uniforms.

"Wes is doing well?" he asked, after the drinks arrived. "He's been working on another of his projects but it's engineering related, so he's talking about it more with Geordi."

"Oh, yes," Beverly said with a sigh. She seemed relieved that he'd chosen a topic other than the day's challenges. "I can hardly keep up with what he's doing. Has he been talking to you at all about girls? Because I can't get him to tell me anything."

Will smirked at that. What boy would tell his mother anything about his love life? "He's doing fine, Beverly. He doesn't need to talk to me about girls."

She seemed relieved by that. "He looks more like Jack all the time," she said then, a little sadness in her face.

"And he's smarter than most of us in some ways, but we can't tell him that," Will said, grinning. "What I'm trying to help him with more than anything has been the non-technical side of Starfleet. Command, and ethics."

"He's going to be a good officer," she said as she sipped her drink. "I appreciate all the time you've spent with him."

"It's no inconvenience. He's a great kid." Will watched Lieutenant Raines wave at him as she passed. He sighed, refocusing on his companion.

"Alicia Raines?"

"It's a short story -- she thinks I'm cute, I think she's too young and not my type."

Beverly snorted at that. "Do you have a type? I don't even know what my type would be."

"It's not really that I have a type. I just know what isn't," he replied.

"Are you all right, Will?"

He gazed at her over the ale as he sipped it, and shrugged at it. "With?"

"The price of coffee on Feringinar," she said, reminding him of their earlier conversation.

Another deep sigh. "I suppose you think there was something between Deanna and I?"

"Not if you're going to take that tone."

"All I care about at this point is that she's happy. She appears to be."

"Appears?" Beverly's hint of a smile was a work of art. "You do think there's going to be trouble."

"Do you think they'll be happy together, forever, without disruptive missions, alien abductions, zany mother-in-law encounters and random visits from Q?"

She giggled at it. "If you put it that way...."

 


	11. Captain's Holiday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a challenge. I can only hope the rewrite makes sense by the end. Doing a coda would result in too much "as you know Bob"ing. (Not that ST isn't already rife with that trick -- the writers have the characters talk endlessly about things they already know, to convey to the readers information they need to understand the story.)
> 
> I found the episode fun, to say the least. On the surface, it's all about getting Picard to let his hair down (har har) and relax, when we know he's really not into that at all. Behind the A plot, the B plot is about getting a dangerous device off the black market before it falls into the wrong hands. 
> 
> So the B plot can stay, and the A plot is different. Much of the dialogue between the characters (except Troi) is from the transcript of the episode. Some of the interactions have been re-ordered slightly.
> 
> The questions I had upon consideration of the episode: why does he not do as he usually does, collect more information to inform his decisions? Because he never gets a full story from Vash. Not that he would believe he could trust that anyway. But he would have gotten more, if he could, and he would have been able to. So in this version, he does. And he has some help finding the Uthat as well.

The transporter deposited them on a broad patio outside the main resort building. Jean-Luc glanced around, as Deanna waved -- attracting the attention of staff. A young man wearing the bare minimum -- a very tight bathing suit, that covered his crotch and not a lot else -- jogged over from a podium and took their bags, promised to deliver them to their suite, directed them inside to check in at the main desk.

"I could have just slept for three days in my own bed," he complained. A token protest. He knew she wanted to come, would enjoy the amenities, and being off the ship with her and without responsibilities had its own appeal. 

"Yes, you could have. And yet you are here with me. Perhaps your doctor doesn't believe you would actually sleep?" Deanna took his arm and they went inside.

Their rooms were on the second floor, and the balcony overlooked the lagoon, which was very busy with sunbathers. Deanna opened the curtains and then the doors, to let in the breeze, and took off her blouse to reveal a bikini top that matched the long white wrap skirt she'd worn for the walk to the transporter room. 

"What would you like to do first?" She started putting things away, in a bank of drawers along the wall near the door, where their bags had been dropped. 

Jean-Luc sat down on the bed to see if it would be comfortable. "That depends."

"I won't be offended if you take a nap first."

He watched her, feeling bleary-eyed and cranky -- the negotiations on Gemaris had taken too long, been too out of sync with his usual daily schedule -- the days and nights were several hours longer than what they were accustomed to in Starfleet, not to mention the end of their day coincided with midnight, Starfleet time. He didn't remember having as much difficulty with that kind of mission the last time, but it had been obvious that he'd suffered for it this time. Not even having Deanna's help had offset the stress. She'd given him back rubs and soothed him to sleep each night, a change from his usual stress-induced insomnia. On top of that, the negotiations themselves had proven a challenge -- two entrenched and stubborn parties arguing about ownership of a moon. He had succeeded after two weeks of patiently challenging and redirecting the bickering representatives of two worlds, but he was almost too tired to care.

Deanna shoved their bags into the bottom of the closet, having emptied them, and kicked off her shoes near the door. She came and knelt before him to remove his shoes and toss them one by one at hers. And then she gently removed his shirt, and encouraged him to lie upon the bed. It was a massive bed, covered with blankets in reds and browns, and as he sank into the plush cushion of pillows and covers it was as though his body knew it was time to let go of all the tension. He was asleep within minutes.

He woke some time later, to find himself curled up with a pillow in his arms, where he'd lately been accustomed to finding Deanna. Groaning, he rolled and dropped his feet to the floor, scrubbing his eyes with his fingers. And there she was, coming to sit next to him.

"Let's go sit in the bath," she said, and he dropped his hands from his eyes -- she had a red flower in her hair over her left ear, and smiled at him happily. Still in the white bikini, and the skirt was gone now, exposing the thong. He let her lead him off through what he'd assumed to be the bathroom. It was, he discovered, part of the large balcony; the bath was outside, under an awning, and big enough for six people. It bubbled merrily while steam rose from the surface of the water. Another door to the left must be the actual bathroom, he supposed. 

She slid his shorts off his hips and let them fall around his ankles. "In you go," she exclaimed, stepping into the water then down a series of steps to sit down. 

"You're overdressed, you know," he commented as he followed her lead. The water was hot, but he adjusted to it quickly. It was not possible to sleep but he let his eyes drift shut, resting his head against a cushion. 

"You can remedy my clothing issue later. It feels good, doesn't it?"

"Hmf."

"You'll be rejuvenated and recovered in no time. And then we'll have some fun, before the Enterprise comes back to get us."

He felt the movement of the water, and then she was settling astride his lap gently, her forearms landing on his chest and her hands on his shoulders. The first kiss woke him up some, and her shifting in his lap woke him up more. She sat back and gave him a head massage -- something he hadn't anticipated he would like, but he was more than pleased to be on the receiving end of those firm fingertips that seemed able to draw the tension from his bones. She moved on to his shoulders, finding and massaging out knots he hadn't been aware of.

A light tinkling of bells sounded, and then she was moving away from him. "What are you doing?" He opened his eyes just in time to see her rising from the water one step at a time, moving away from him, giving him a fine view of her thighs and ass. She glanced down at him with amused eyes.

"It's the food I asked them to deliver. Relax."

He growled and leaned back to wait, watching her going inside through his eyelashes. She returned with a tray of assorted finger foods and a couple of drinks.

"You see, you're doing fine," she said as she set the tray near the edge and descended into the water again. He caught the bikini string in his fingers as it came within arm's reach and tugged, sending the offending strip of material falling from her body into the tub. "Something I can do for you?" She laughed and took the final step down, let herself drop into the water, his hands coming up to catch her and guide her back to his lap. He grabbed her hips and pulled her down, and it was so easy to immerse himself in her that he knew she'd been ready for him -- her hands went to the back of his head as she started to move against him, to moan into his mouth and to close herself around him. 

Sex had been to this point a minimal part of the relationship. Certain realities imposed themselves upon them, the demands of their careers among them, and the effects of his age on his virility had come to his attention more and more, as it was clear that he'd not been sexually active on an ongoing basis and his recovery time was now longer than it had been the last time it had been an issue. He had, for the duration of the negotiations, not indulged in more than a kiss with her, as it had taken most of his energy and focus to cope with the schedule and the talks.

So it had been weeks, since that last morning with her, just prior to his abduction and brief replacement. And suddenly as she slid up and down, taking him in, moving faster with his encouragement, he wanted very much to thrust -- she was obviously very attuned to him and wasn't surprised, moved with him as he rolled her over and up against one of the contoured seats in the hot tub. Her legs parted as she came to rest and he pushed one of them up as he drove into her, and from the intense look on her face she liked this very much -- his spread fingers gripped her thigh and buttock to keep her steady while he started to thrust aggressively. And then she came, her body clenching and tensing, her back rising as her breasts brushed his chest. 

He wasn't much good, didn't last for very long, and came not long after she had -- it left him with either sex toys or his hands, and fortunately she was so responsive that it was difficult to feel disappointed, watching her twitch and moan while he rubbed and teased her to a second climax. 

"Still want to be back on the ship?" she murmured, sprawling and reaching for the tray. She fed him a grape and kissed him while he came down to hold her, put her arms around his neck, nibbled his ear and down the side of his neck.

"Perhaps long enough to visit sickbay." He'd balked at doing it, gone back and forth, not wanted anyone in sickbay to know he was having issues of this nature -- true that the doctor would be discreet, he knew, but he hadn't yet overcome the anxiety to actually go in and be open about it. It was still his ship, still his crew, and he found his lack of stamina frustrating, in the face of her obvious pleasure in his attentions. Also he remembered being able to enjoy more extended periods of intercourse. Having the opportunity to do so on a regular basis, yet being unable to, irritated him to no end.

Her sigh tickled his skin, down his shoulder. "Performance anxiety is unwarranted and unwelcome."

"I know you said before that -- "

"All sex is good sex," she mumbled against the skin behind his ear. "Still true. We have a lot of options here that you perhaps have not considered."

"Such as?" Not that he was particularly interested, but keeping her talking while she grazed along his skin had its own merits.

"I could bring in someone for jamharon and you could watch. I could get some toys, and you could use them on me -- or watch someone else do it. You could talk to the doctor here at the resort -- Hm, you like that idea?"

That it wasn't Beverly he'd be appealing to, for pharmaceutical intervention to offset his faulty plumbing? Certainly. "Are there any more grapes?"

It didn't take much longer to feel waterlogged, and so they left the tub -- she wrapped him in a towel the size of a blanket, and threw on a robe herself, leading the way inside after squeezing the water from her hair. She relocated the tray to the middle of the bed and gave him the padd with more information about the resort and its amenities, so he read while she nibbled for a bit on cheeses and fruit, and curled up near him and closed her eyes. He ate as he read as well, and had come to some conclusions about what he thought might be worth doing over the next six days they had at their disposal, but he glanced at her and found that she was asleep.

So he slipped off the bed, out of the towel, and got dressed. Shorts were modest compared to the clothing of the men he'd seen walking around the resort, and he threw on a loose, open robe. Leaning down, he kissed her hair -- she made a humming sound but didn't wake up. No matter. She could probably sense him wherever he went and know all was well. Leaving her to nap, he went in search of the low key sort of adventure he would have performing a visual survey of the resort. 

He found the doctor's office easily enough, and investing half an hour of waiting and fifteen minutes of exam time led to departing with four hypos in his pocket and clear instructions. There were already small portable regeneration units in the rooms -- the Risan resorts anticipated everything, apparently, including the kind of soreness that might inhibit sexual congress.

He wandered through the gift shop and examined the menu at the restaurant, and observed the pool -- the sea would be less anxiety-provoking, he thought, observing the dozens of people including children in that area -- then wandered back around to the front of the resort, to head back upstairs. Deanna was probably awake by now.

As he passed through the huge foyer toward a lift, a woman darted up, grabbed him by the sides of the head, and kissed him, hard. It caught him by surprise, and he froze for a few moments. She pulled back and grinned at him, confusing him further. He hadn't responded to it at all. "There you are.  It's so good to see you again!"

"What?" He took a couple of steps away from her and eyed her suspiciously. Definitely not anyone he had ever seen in his life. Good looking, yes, but no one he had ever known. "I believe you have mistaken me for someone else."

Her warm brown eyes were tinged with regret. "I guess so. Welcome to Risa."

"A simple handshake would have sufficed," he grumbled. Sidling around her, he headed for the lift. And saw a Ferengi dart behind a tall potted plant -- curious. Jean-Luc looked back at the woman -- she was going up the stairwell on the far side of the lobby. Shrugging it off, he went in the lift. 

When he exited the lift on the second floor, he hesitated -- he'd followed Deanna to the room without taking note of their surroundings, and he had been infernally tired at the time. Now he couldn't remember which room. He started to go left down the hall. The Ferengi appeared in front of him, scowling as most Ferengi he had ever met tended to do. 

"I know you're working with her. I warn you, it's a mistake," the Ferengi growled, gesturing vaguely with his hands. 

It was beyond belief -- for once in his life, he'd let someone talk him into a vacation, and he'd started to enjoy it. And now this. "Are you addressing me?"

"Don't bother to deny it. I've seen the two of you together."

"I don't know what the devil you're talking about. But whatever it is, I assure you it's no concern of mine." He tried to step around the Ferengi, but the obnoxious little creature blocked him, pawing his arm. Jean-Luc backed away.

"Tell her I want the disc returned to me immediately!"

"Perhaps I have not made myself clear. You have the wrong man," he exclaimed, turning to head the other way. 

"I am rapidly losing patience with you! I demand you talk business!" 

"You'll find Ferengi demands carry little weight with me." Jean-Luc tried to remember the room number, hoping Deanna was awake and perhaps sensing his anger, since that might mean she would come to find him and take him back to the room.

"Obviously you've never dealt with my people before," the Ferengi spat, trying to sound threatening, tailing him but not daring to touch him.

"On the contrary, all too often." 

"Then you know the Ferengi are not to be trifled with," the little troll exclaimed with a sneer. Why did they always think that made them imposing?

"Or trusted."

"You dare to insult me?"

Frustrated, unable to remember his room number, Jean-Luc whirled about and sternly said, "I advise you to listen closely for I will not say this again. I came to Risa for a holiday, nothing more. I have no knowledge of this woman of whom you speak, nor have I laid eyes on any disc."

The Ferengi cringed, but sure enough came back with another belligerent attempt. "You expect me to believe such feeble lies?

"I don't care what you believe!" Jean-Luc shouted.

"This is not over yet, human. The disc is mine! And so is the woman. Remember that," he spat, even as he cowered then slunk off in the direction of the lift. 

Jean-Luc fumed quietly and strode along the hall without a clear destination, at this point. About the time he calmed down and decided to return to the lobby to discover his room number, he turned back toward the lift and there was the woman from the lobby, apparently following him.

"Hello," she said with a smile.

"Oh, it's you," he said, starting to feel angry again. No doubt this woman had something to do with the Ferengi -- he'd mentioned a woman, after all.

She gave him a look of mock dismay. "That's not much of a greeting."

"Look, I don't wish to appear rude, but I am not seeking jamaharon."

She smiled again, sly and appraising him openly. "All right, but you really should try it some time."

"If I try it, it will be at a time of my own choosing."

"That's fine with me. It's not as though I was offering to help you find it."

He stared at her anew, and realized she was right. "I assumed because of the way you welcomed me."

"I'm sorry if I embarrassed you." Now she was definitely amused, her eyes laughing, her tone light and unapologetic.

"I don't recall saying I was embarrassed. It's just that I prefer to be acquainted with the women that I kiss."

She nodded, losing some of the amusement. "That's understandable. The name's Vash." She stuck out a hand. After a moment's consideration, he shook it.

"Jean-Luc Picard." He started to turn away for the lift. But she came with him. It left him at loose ends, riding back down to the lobby with a woman who had jumped on him and kissed him. 

"So tell me about yourself, Jean-Luc."

He stared at the wall, fuming again. Thought about using his communicator -- Deanna had hers. He'd put his in one of the robe's pockets.  
  
"Would you rather I guess? I can be very persistent."

"I'm the captain of a Federation starship." Perhaps that would be enough to tell her she was targeting the wrong man. Whatever she was up to, she had a Ferengi after her. That generally meant nothing good.

"That explains it," she replied.

"Explains what?"

"I noticed you arguing with that Ferengi. For a moment there it looked like it was going to come to blows."

"You're the woman he was talking about, aren't you?"

"I hope your disagreement wasn't over me." That was a subtle acceptance of blame if he ever heard it.

"For that information you'll have to ask him." He shot out of the lift and bypassed the front desk, not wanting the woman to overhear where he was staying.

"Where are you going?" She sounded distressed, and came after him as he had feared she might.

"To find some privacy," he snapped.

"Wait a second," she called, breaking into a run. "What did he tell you? I'm sure there wasn't a bit of truth to it."

And then he almost ran into the damned Ferengi in the hall, heading toward the restaurant -- the man smelled like dead fish, and his breath was worse. Jean-Luc sidestepped around him.

That led to the Ferengi almost being bowled over by Vash. "And you said you didn't know her!" 

"I don't. And I don't want to," Jean-Luc exclaimed coldly.

"Return the disc to me and all will be forgiven!" The Ferengi was now on his heels, as he retreated past the restaurant and went out a side door. 

By the time he lost the Ferengi and worked his way slowly back around to the lobby neither Vash nor the idiot was in evidence. He quietly obtained the room number and made his way up the stairs, found the door, and got into his room without further incident.

Deanna sat up as he came in, and gave him a questioning look. "Are you all right?"

"I am now. I thought for a moment that it might turn into -- " As he spoke he fished the contents of the robe's pockets out, the four hypos in his left hand, and an orange disc in the other. "Damn her!"

"Her?"

"A woman -- she's being pursued by a Ferengi, he wants this disc for some reason and she obviously put this in my pocket."

Deanna had a gift for scowling; her brows drew together and her mouth became a tight little turned-down bow. "What aren't you telling me?"

"She jumped on me in the lobby and kissed me. I think she was pretending she knew me, to throw off the Ferengi." But in retrospect, that didn't make sense. The Ferengi obviously knew who she was. "On second thought... that must have been when she put the disc in my pocket."

Deanna gestured for him to come join her, and when he sat on the edge of the bed, she took the hypos from his hand. "Is this something for me?" 

"It's enough to keep things stimulating for a few days." He tossed the disc on the night stand. "I had been thinking about using the stable, or going for a walk on the beach... but after that encounter I think I'd prefer to stay in bed."

"Mmm, room service here is wonderful," Deanna said, rising on her knees to drape herself over his shoulders. "And I asked for them to deliver us a massage table. And a masseuse -- we'll take turns, and then we'll lie in the moonlight and... take turns."

"Yes, ma'am," he said with a smile. That sounded much more to his liking than being threatened by a Ferengi. "If you'll pass me a hypo?"

 

\---------------------

 

Jean-Luc awakened to sun in his face -- he peered around and found that the balcony doors facing the ocean were still wide open, and a gentle cool breeze playing in the draperies. Deanna, of course, had wrapped herself around him and burrowed under the covers; she was breathing on his chest, the slight air movement tickling his left nipple. When he moved slightly she woke, started to move as well, nuzzling along his shoulder and popping her head out to smile at him in her fuzzy, non-morning-person way.

"I think you might be happy," he mumbled, grinning.

"Correct as usual." Her lips brushed his. "And you might be happy as well."

"Could be happier." Though not by much. The regenerator had come in handy, more than once.

She laughed, wormed over a few more inches to settle atop him and sent her hips sliding to and fro, her thick pubic hair brushing his hip, his thigh, and then her hand began to work on his morning erection.

"Good morning," she whispered. He could hear her smile. "We have all day."

"Come here," he rumbled, bringing up his hand to cup her buttock and push her further, guide her down slightly. As they moved beneath the covers he kissed her, tasting her, teasing her tongue, enjoying the complete lack of distractions or potential interruptions. She laughed when she came; it was unique, the way she would cry out and then the sound would become the start of a delighted laugh. And she draped herself over his chest, shifting slightly left to let her hip rest on the mattress. The more relaxed she became, the more she laughed and smiled, the less he thought about going riding, or reading.

"I love you, Jean-Luc."

"Something I wouldn't have anticipated, but I find myself completely -- "

"Oh, stop," she said, laughing again and raising her head to kiss him again. "Less talking," she whispered between kisses. "More doing."

"Insatiable creature," he mumbled against her lips.

It led to more laughter, more moaning, more sighing, more sleeping, and the gradual intrusion of hunger, followed by her answering the door naked and bringing back breakfast, then feeding it to him.

"The woman you mentioned yesterday," she said, sitting cross-legged in the rumpled covers and braiding her hair, "I think she's looking for you."

"What are you talking about?" Jean-Luc plucked a strawberry out of the bowl of fruit and held it up, so she would wrap her lips around his fingers and slowly take the berry from him. When she had finished consuming it, she inclined her head toward the door.

"There's someone in the hall. Sometimes moving to and fro, sometimes stationary, and since I can sense the presence it must therefore be someone other than the Ferengi, which I cannot sense."

He scowled at her for a few seconds, and raised his head -- the damned disc was still there, on the nightstand. He leaped up and came around the bed, snatched up the disc, and was almost to the door when Deanna cleared her throat.

"Don't you start waving that around," she chided, wiggling two fingers vaguely toward his crotch. "You'll put someone's eye out."

"My god," he growled, trying not to laugh or swear. He stalked to the drawer in which she'd stored his clothing. "The things you learn about someone on Risa."

"I know," she agreed. "I expected it to be much bigger."

"Deanna," he half-moaned, rolling his eyes.

"I'm kidding. I knew how big it was before you ever took off your pants. Those uniforms show everything."

He stopped cold, having pulled up a pair of shorts, and stared at her in growing horror. She licked a little jam from her finger delicately, and picked up another piece of toast.

"I'm _kidding,"_ she exclaimed. "And I'm trying to do you a favor -- if you can stop reacting to my teasing, you can stop reacting to Q's."

"Do not say that word. Don't invite him." He held up the disc. "I'm giving this back to her -- you need to rescue me if anything happens."

Deanna gave him an incredulous stare. "Are you incapable of keeping a woman from kissing you?"

"No idea if she's got the Ferengi with her, right?"

"I'll be here, with my phaser."

"You brought a phaser? They don't allow weapons here, Deanna!"

"I obtained permission -- it's deactivated in the bottom of a drawer. I told the governor that you have enemies and I'm your security for the duration. Will detected a Ferengi ship in orbit, when he dropped us off, and it was the only compromise that kept us from having Worf join us. You can imagine how much 'fun' that would have been." She stood up from the bed and stretched, tempting him to ignore the woman in the hall and tackle her back into bed. "You think I don't listen to your stories, but I do."

"I'll be right back."

Deanna smiled and watched him go. As she had predicted, Vash was in the hall -- he came up behind her, and she reached the corner and turned to pace back, stopped when she saw him, smiled appreciatively at him.

"Is this what the Ferengi's looking for?" he asked, holding up the disc.

"I'm sorry I had to hide it like that. I was afraid he'd start searching me next."

"This disc must contain some very valuable information." He had, in fact, spent a little time the night before replicating a reader to check out the contents of it. Deanna had been asleep at the time. Curiosity was, after all, both a fatal flaw and a motivator for him. Such shady dealers on a planet like Risa -- the last thing he would have expected.

Vash shrugged, crossing her arms. As she had yesterday, she wore a suit under a gauzy green cover-up. "I doubt it's anything you'd be interested in." Which betrayed that it was very important; a con would never give away how anxious she was, at the thought of losing such an item of interest.

"Depends."

"On what?"

"On whether or not it has something to do with the Tox Uthat."

"Did Sovak tell you that?" So that was the Ferengi's name.

"Well, let's just say I've heard rumors that the Uthat is located somewhere on Risa." The disc was full of notes and maps to that effect.

Vash shook her head, narrowed her eyes, and glanced at the floor. "Look, the last thing I need is a partner." Well played -- the lure of the forbidden, the promise of things so desirable she didn't want to share.

"So it's true."

Vash brought her eyes back up to his. "I don't suppose you ever heard of Professor Samuel Estragon?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I have. He spent half his life searching for the Tox Uthat." That was true enough; Estragon was moderately well known in the archeological community.

"I served as his personal assistant for the past five years. Shortly before he died, he uncovered new data pinpointing its location. And that disc contains his research notes and maps." 

"And you're continuing his work?"

"Exactly."

"With a Ferengi as an associate?"

"Sovak and I are definitely not working together." She crossed her arms again, at that.

"But the two of you are very well acquainted." In fact, he suspected she had seduced the alien. It would explain Sovak's assertions that he owned the woman. It also explained her continued conversation with him -- seduction of a new recruit.

"Well, at times he aided the professor in his explorations. Especially in situations that weren't quite ethical."

Which now colored his opinion of Estragon, significantly. "And now, with typical Ferengi logic, he's convinced that the Tox Uthat belongs to him."

"All he cares about is selling it to the highest bidder."

"Whereas you, of course, have a nobler purpose in mind," he said, recognizing her appeal to his own sense of right and wrong for what it was -- the woman had no scruples herself, clearly.

Apparently she failed to recognize sarcasm, or chose not to in the name of her game. "I told the professor I'd present it to the Daystrom Institute for study. But first I have to find it. And that won't be easy with Sovak watching me every minute." No doubt she had told each party what they needed to hear to trust her.

"I'll go in your place." The instant he said it, he was aware that he had seen every move she made, and still let himself be drawn in. But it was a legendary item -- the mystery and the intrigue were very appealing. And she was attractive enough -- he was certain she'd had no difficulties using that to her advantage. If things were different there might have been some potential there, despite her obvious lack of ethics.

Vash frowned -- it was a wonder, he thought, that she had gotten this far, with such unconvincing acting. She was pasting on displeasure over the satisfaction of believing he was being drawn in. "And what about me?"

"You'll remain here. It's safer." He could go for a long ride, and return empty-handed, as well as anyone. And Deanna would be in yoga, getting a massage, running on the beach, and when he returned, waiting naked in the bed with a lascivious smile and flowers in her hair.

"Is that an order?" That was almost a convincing scandalized question.

"Absolutely."

"This isn't a starship, Jean-Luc. I don't follow orders." 

"Oh, I see," he said, smiling faintly.

"Besides, you'd never find it without me. The professor's notes are in code."

He smiled at that, amused by her, the entire situation -- it was supposed to be a vacation. Code? Hardly. "From the moment I met you, I knew you were going to be trouble."

She smiled broadly and went sly-eyed, triumphant at the first sign of flirting from him. "You look like a man who could handle trouble."

He almost laughed -- there was the carrot of a compliment, intended to draw him in the rest of the way. "So, where exactly is the location?"

"It's about twenty seven kilometers due east. There are some subterranean caves there. That's where you'll find the Uthat."

"I see," he said, crossing his arms, contemplating -- he knew that would be either a long ride or a longer walk. A full day of constant walking, in fact. "I suppose there are no roads."

"Or trails. Or much of anything -- that would be the point of hiding it there."

"I'm going to give this some consideration." He held up the disc, flipping it over in his fingers, and let her snatch it away. "I'll meet you in the lobby in an hour."

Vash was grinning as if she'd just won the jackpot. "Jean-Luc. We're going to make a wonderful team."

He almost laughed -- from "I don't work with a partner" to being a team, in a single conversation. He gave her a smirk and turned to head back down the hall. Happily, she didn't follow -- she went the other direction, vanished around a corner. Jean-Luc glanced around the area outside his door and didn't see any devices or Ferengi, or anyone at all, then went inside.

And found Deanna, still naked and sitting among the mess of covers and pillows in the bed, staring down two aliens. Aliens with weapons. She looked remarkably calm, for all that, but he supposed that long practice at being held at gunpoint on missions had something to do with it.

"What the hell are you doing in my room?" he shouted. It had the intended effect of bringing both weapons to bear on him, and Deanna's eyes widened.

One of the aliens took a step toward him. "We are Vorgons. I am Ajur. This is Boratus."

The other alien continued, as if they had rehearsed and decided to share the responsibility for explaining. "We come from the twenty seventh century. We traveled three hundred years into the past to find you."

That brought both his eyebrows up -- Jean-Luc kept still, stopped himself from crossing his arms or putting his hands on his hips, which might be misinterpreted. "All right, let's assume for the moment I believe you, that you are indeed from the future. What is it that you want from me?"

"Have you heard of the Tox Uthat?"

It took real effort, to keep a straight face. Deanna almost gave it away, but it was unlikely these aliens would recognize her nonverbal signals for what they were, a startled look at him reacting to his surge of anger, frustration, and agony. He'd been on the verge of taking her to a different resort and leaving Vash with her long con and her possessive Ferengi "friend," and this was becoming a ridiculously complicated situation.

Hopefully they didn't register the delay in his response, as he composed himself for an answer that wouldn't link him to Vash. "What? I'm aware of the legend. It tells of a visitor from the future who left behind a mysterious device known as the Tox Uthat."

"Essentially that story is correct," the first alien said.

Jean-Luc wandered over to sit on the edge of the bed. Deanna slid forward, to lean against him, and he felt something hard pressing his thigh in the covers. Smart girl -- she'd gotten the phaser somehow. No wonder she wasn't so alarmed. "Then the Uthat actually exists?"

"Yes. It was invented by a scientist named Kal Dano in the mid twenty seventh century. The Uthat is a quantum phase inhibitor capable of halting all nuclear reaction within a star."

Now, that was news. There'd been nothing to indicate it was that kind of device in the notes. Jean-Luc went thoughtful, head canted to the right, considering all the possibilities -- he glanced at Deanna. She was sober, even gave a slight nod. So she could tell Ajur was speaking the truth, at least about the Uthat. This changed everything.

"But why bring such a powerful weapon into the past?"

"Criminals attempted to steal the device, so he fled back to the twenty second century where he hid it. Ajur and I were the security team assigned to retrieve the Uthat."

Deanna was still, looking away, at the foot of the bed -- no hint that she believed that. "I gather you were unsuccessful," Jean-Luc said, continuing to obtain information.

"Yes. When we returned we began to search through the historical records for some clue to the Uthat's fate."

This was starting to feel like conscription.  "And your search led you to me?"

"We came upon a brief account stating you had discovered an object of unknown origin while vacationing on Risa. From its description, a crystal cube that fits in the palm of the hand, we surmised it could very well be the Tox Uthat."

At least that was a physical description not present in the notes that Vash was carrying around. He glanced at Deanna -- another slight nod. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I haven't found anything, including peace, which is the only thing I'm looking for."

"You will find such a device, Captain," Boratus said, in his emotionless monotone. "To us, it is already part of history."

"And if I do find it, what then?" They wanted a powerful weapon -- he wanted confirmation that they were up to no good.

"You will give it to us immediately so that we may return with it."

Jean-Luc wondered if these aliens had had much to do with other species at all, that they were attempting the up-front, honest approach like this. Then again, if they really knew about him, perhaps they understood more than he assumed. "Well, the Uthat belongs to your time, not mine."

Both aliens raised a hand, touched the sides of their heads, and vanished in a flash of light.

Jean-Luc looked at Deanna, who now smiled at him with regret-tinged affection. "This is one of those things, isn't it?" she said.

"It is one of those things. Are you up for this thing?" He sighed, slid his hand up her back. "You don't have to go. You could stay, and relax."

"A quantum phase inhibitor sounds like something no one wants in the wrong hands. You're going to tell me that the woman and the Ferengi are caught up in this?"

"You're getting good at interpreting what you sense, yes. I was going to suggest that we ditch the resort and move on to another, and continue to pursue the pleasures of the love we have for each other, but this is turning into something that we can't walk away from, as officers. How much of what they were saying was true?"

"They're time travelers. They want the device, badly. They believe what they are saying about it, and that you will find it. I think it's likely they would hurt us to get it." She rebraided her hair in a big, messy plait while she spoke. It tended to fall out of her attempts to keep it tied back, unless she used one of her larger beaded clips.

"According to Vash, we have seventeen miles to walk to a cave to get it. She thinks she's seduced me into going with her. I'm supposed to meet her in an hour."

"She thinks she's seduced you in more ways than that." She balanced her chin on his shoulder and pressed her breasts against his chest. "So do you know where this cave is, exactly? If you're walking, it will take you a while to get there, and give me time to find a transporter and get there first."

"You know... that's curious, isn't it? Why she would want to walk?"

"If you like someone you spend time with them, get to know them, make opportunities to talk to them. Also she isn't an officer and civilians can't request that the government grant them exceptions to the Risan rules about transportation limitations and weapons bans. I would walk anywhere, with you," she added, smiling again and running her hand over his thigh and into the leg of his shorts, caressing the soft skin of his inner thigh.

He kissed her -- of all the many ways to kiss, he enjoyed most the very gentle, affectionate caresses of the lips that told him this was a different relationship, worlds away from the brief encounters such as the one Vash was trying to lure him into. Jean-Luc put his arms around her and swayed with her, smiling. Kissing her hair, as she embraced him in return with a contented sigh.

"So what are we going to do," she asked as they parted and she settled next to him with her hand resting on his knee. "Captain."

"You'll be in the lobby when I meet Vash. I'll try to get her to give me the exact location of the device, so I can program it into a GPS unit before we start, and that should tell you where to go directly, to find it. When we get there and the device is gone, the aliens and the Ferengi should be convinced by my outrage at her deception that I am no longer a factor in finding the thing, and we'll meet back here in the room, then disappear to another resort."

"I like especially that my part in this doesn't require a full day of walking," she said slyly. "And so you'll call for transport once you've angrily stormed off into the jungle and left her behind? Rescue as much of our vacation as we can. Because I'm supposing that you taste good, with some of those edible body oils they have in the spa."

He sighed heavily. "I'm sorry about this."

"You can make it up to me. Take me on a vacation again," she murmured. "I'm an officer, I expect red alerts, you know."

"You were right, you know. I'm enjoying our time here."

She smirked, draping her arm over his shoulder, playing her fingertips in his short hair. "You simply need companionship. The company of a good friend, and perhaps some massage oil, to occupy idle hours while you learn to relax."

"I'm sorry, but you're not always so relaxing as you think. But I enjoy that as well."

Her sly chuckle made him remember that they had an hour -- less than an hour. "Would you like to join me in making good use of the life span of that last injection, before you leave?"

"Oh," he said, reaching for her, "that would be a most efficient use of our time, I think."

 

\--------------

 

Vash was waiting for him in front of the stall in a corner of the lobby, where the resort sold horgha'hns. There were several dozen on the shelves behind her, in several sizes -- he wondered in passing if the size of the horgha'hn mattered. As he approached she smiled with great pleasure that he had shown up as scheduled, as if she'd expected him to fail to show up.

He held up the GPS. "So, coordinates?" Out of the tail of his eye he caught movement. Deanna, in a teal wrap, with her hair caught up on the back of her head and cascading down in a riot of curls, drifted by -- putting a swing in her hips, smiling as if she knew all the secrets in the universe and was only searching for the right person to share them with. He watched her for a second as if distracted -- which he was -- and turned expectantly back to Vash as Deanna paused, made an abrupt side trip to the shelves full of horgha'hns as if debating which one to get, and then a young, mostly-undressed male appeared to express an interest. She started to speak with him in a very low tone.

"Not yet. Let's go outside." Vash leaned and yanked up a rucksack to sling it over her shoulder, started to head for the door. 

"No." 

She hesitated, turning halfway around to frown at him. "Look, Jean-Luc -- you seem to think you can tell me what to do, but that's just not the way it's going to work."

"You seem to think I'm willing to play along with whatever scheme you have without questions. I need more information, or I'm picking up a horgha'hn and heading for the beach."

"Are you in this with me, or not?" Her tone suggested hurt feelings. 

"Vash, you've been here for six weeks. More than enough time to go out there several times and recover the item yourself. I have to ask myself why you haven't recruited a victim and done that already." 

Her jaw jutted and her eyes flashed. And then, before she could respond to that, movement -- and Deanna was at his side, holding a horga'hn and giving him such a lascivious look that there was no mistaking her intent.

"I have something you want," she whispered, leaning in to brush her lips along his, and then along his cheek, and then they tickled his ear as she added so very, very softly, "it's in my hand."

"You do," he said dubiously, unsure what she was doing.

"Hey," Vash exclaimed loudly. Deanna ignored her and ran a speculative fingertip down his chest, along one of the pleats on his shirt. 

"You would like jamaharon with me," Deanna murmured, as her hand reached his waist and slipped around him. "I know what humans like. Come upstairs."

"Hmmm," he said, as if uncertain. "I wasn't aware there were Betazoid staff here."

"Jean-Luc," Vash exclaimed urgently. "Let's go."

"Good luck, Vash," he said, smiling at Deanna and letting her lead him away, the horga'hn dangling from her left hand. They made it half across the lobby toward the lift before another outburst.

"Wait!" Vash shrieked. "Wait right there! Stop!"

Jean-Luc was reaching for the panel to summon the lift when Vash arrived and grabbed at Deanna's arm -- she pulled away and dodged across in front of him, and he put out an arm to block Vash's attempt at pursuit. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

"That's mine," Vash insisted, pointing at the horga'hn Deanna held.

"I just purchased it -- go away," Deanna exclaimed with a scowl. "It is not yours! Get your own!"

The lift door opened. Giving Vash a shove, Jean-Luc followed Deanna into the tiny space and tapped the control, closing the door. "What are you changing the plan for?"

Deanna held out the statue and twisted the head -- when it came off, there was a glowing cube inside the statue. "I came down to see her arrive as we discussed, hid in the nook behind the front desk chatting up the desk attendant, and she went over and put this inside -- this looks like what the Vorgons described, does it not?"

"So she did find it already," he said with a grin. "I'll bet she's been keeping this in hiding places all over the resort. She told me she was afraid the Ferengi would search her -- he probably searched her rooms already."

"I moved one of the other identical statues into its place, but she must have checked inside it and realized I took it. But why would she lead you on a goose chase for it?"

"Because she has so many people following her, looking for it. If she takes a third party with her and there's no Uthat to find, she might be able to convince them -- especially the Vorgons. A starship captain would be a reliable witness, wouldn't he?"

"Are we going to hide it now?"

Jean-Luc put an arm around her as the lift opened, and they headed quickly to their room. "We should destroy it. It's out of time, and it's nothing that anyone should have access to in this century."

"Would the phaser do it?"

"It should. But we want an audience for the occasion, I think, so not just yet. Let's have some lunch, shall we?"

Room service came and went, before the reappearance of the aliens. They sat down to lunch at the table before the open doors, giving them a view of the sea and the beach below. As they started to eat twin flashes of light flared and they leaped up from their chairs.

"You found it," one of the aliens announced, starting toward the glowing cube that Jean-Luc had carefully placed in the middle of the floor. Before it reached the Uthat, Jean-Luc fired the phaser. The cube glowed orange and vanished. 

Both aliens stared at him, as they stood like statues for a long moment. Then as one they raised their hands to their heads and disappeared in a flare of yellow light.

"That should do it," he said, returning to his chair and picking up his fork. Deanna did the same. 

"You made them very angry," she said softly. 

"At least they didn't see a reason to lash out at us," he said.

"That you know of, yet. Time travelers can come back when you least expect it."

He harrumphed and took another bite of his salad. "We have beaches to explore. How do you feel about taking a walk?"

She raised her eyes from her pile of greens, and smiled happily at him. "All right."

 

\----------------------------

 

Will was waiting for them in the transporter room when they came aboard, and grinned as they stepped off the pad. "How was Risa?"

"It was nice," Jean-Luc said. Deanna stifled a giggle quickly as she fell in step next to him, leaving the room.

Will strolled along on Jean-Luc's left, looking them up and down. Deanna wore a bright orange and yellow sun dress, and he had chosen nondescript brown pants and a tan shirt, so there wasn't much evidence of anything for Will to tease them about. "Did you try the stables, or the parasailing?"

"We thought about it but in the end we made it a much more restful vacation, plenty of deck chair time with a good book," Deanna said. "I managed a massage per day, and talked him into getting one or two himself."

"No jamaharon?" Will's grin suggested he knew well enough how it had likely played out. 

"Didn't need it," Jean-Luc said, putting a hand on Deanna's shoulder as they entered the lift. "Make sure the rest of our things are sent to our quarters, would you?"

"So, no adventure at all? That doesn't sound like you, sir," Will said.

Jean-Luc exchanged a look with Deanna. "There was this Ferengi, and this woman," he began. 

"Then the aliens from the future beamed into the bedroom," Deanna added. "They wanted a weapon that had been sent into the past and hidden in the Risan jungle. They told us that the captain was the one who found it, and they wanted it returned to them."

"But she sensed their deceit and so we destroyed the weapon, after we found it hidden inside a horga'hn," Jean-Luc said.

Will blinked, chewing on it for a minute. "Sounds like you were reading fiction."

Jean-Luc reached in the end pocket of the duffel he carried and handed Will the book he hadn't read. "You ought to try twenty-first century science fiction. It's pretty good."

Will stood there holding the book -- they went in the lift, and Deanna asked for deck eight. "He didn't believe us?"

"No. You have to admit, it's one of those stories where you had to be there to understand it."

Jean-Luc smiled. "Can you do me a favor, drop off the bag in my quarters?"

"Sure. Where are you going?"

"I have something to do in sickbay."

She laughed, quietly, a pale imitation of what he knew he could make her do, under the right circumstances. "I see you've used the vacation to think things over, and come to some conclusions."

"Some priorities change, you know, when you're in a relationship."

He felt her fingers touch his, just before the door opened and her hand fell away. "See you later?" She left the lift, but hesitated with a foot in the door.

"Oh, yes. And then some."

Deanna smiled, slung the bag she'd taken from him, and left him there -- swaying her hips as she walked away. The doors closed on the view.

"Deck ten," he said, stuffing his hands in the pockets of the pants to push them forward, to avoid being caught running around with a visible erection. The last dose was obviously still present and accounted for, probably had another five hours left and there wouldn't be a need to go to the bridge until morning. Once he'd talked to Dr. Crusher, hopefully not losing the resolve to do so on the way to sickbay, he could relax and anticipate a brighter future featuring more leave than before. 

 


	12. Tin Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The episode that opens with Deanna announcing to everyone that the guest star of the week used to be a client of hers. DOH. Bye, confidentiality. (I'm going to pretend that didn't happen.)
> 
> Because we can't make an episode about a first contact with a truly alien space going life form, we have Romulans to harass them until Gomtuu departs with Tam, forever. Data plays a key role in things since Tam can't sense anything from him. 
> 
> Unlike Lwaxana, Tam is boring, only saying out loud things that people are actually thinking, instead of being a flirt. Resulting in the verbalization of Picard's orders to others. #boringcaptainisboring
> 
> Back to the coda format for now.

Deanna enjoyed the arboretum most after hours, when the daytime lighting went into night mode. One of the botanists had asked an engineer to provide a moon, which went through the same phases as the Terran moon, and moved overhead as it would on Earth. Tonight it was a full moon, so she was able to move around without a light. She found her favorite bench near a cluster of Betazoid muktoks, and sat down.

All that was missing was a light breeze, to move in the leaves. She found herself missing Risa -- they had taken a moonlight walk, on a well-marked trail into the jungle. Jean-Luc had walked with her in silence; both of them appreciated that at times. Especially after the Ferengi had returned and finally, the Risan authorities had had to step in, to remove the raving alien from the resort entirely. Vash had to all appearances vanished, though they had returned to their room to find some of their things had been moved as if someone had been searching for something. Deanna knew the desperation Vash felt; finding the Uthat meant more to her than Deanna would have expected, perhaps because there had been more to gain than Vash had made apparent.

Returning to the ship had been more of an adjustment than Deanna had thought it would be. Becoming caught up in helping Tam had been a distraction for a while, from the strange turns of mood she'd had upon being confronted by Captain Picard, on the morning she'd returned to duty and most mornings thereafter. She kept her distance during the day except for staff briefings. What she hadn't expected was the lack of contact after shift, though some evenings she had spent talking to Tam. It made her tense, while in briefings or on the bridge. She knew the change had been obvious to at least Will; he'd finally asked her, just a few hours ago at the end of the shift, if she was all right.

She looked up at the fake night sky and sighed. Somewhere out in the galaxy, Tam was flying through the stars with Gomtuu -- what a complex, alien set of emotions had been present in that creature, indescribable and deep. And Tam had found peace at last, and the creature's great sadness had eased.

She knew Jean-Luc was approaching -- had sensed him despite her attempt to deliberately fend off the emotions of the crew for a while, so she could find some peace and center herself. As he reached the bench she looked up and smiled.

"You were right, you know," he said, as she sidled right to make a little more room and he sat down with her.

"I was?"

He shrugged a little. "I really enjoyed the vacation. It was difficult to come back."

She exhaled, floating a little on his emotions as he made his confession. A giggle bubbled out of her -- she loved him, when he was like this, and since he had stopped being so anxious and started to be this less hardened version of himself she found herself wanting to curl up in his lap at every opportunity. To bask in him, like a reptile on a sun-warmed rock.

And when she laughed, he became as buoyant as she -- lighthearted, smiling, his eyes bright. And so their vacation had been spent in their little bubble of joy. She'd missed that, returning to the ship -- Captain Picard had no use for such distractions, and though he had carried some of it around with him while on duty, and she could sense that, she knew better than to think he would let himself be so at ease, while aboard the Enterprise.

"Gomtuu was so lonely," she said, looking up at the starry ceiling. Would he touch her, or was this too public? They were sitting quite close, but it seemed he was making the effort not to make contact. She considered mentioning that no one else was in the arboretum, but decided not to be pushy.

"I wondered," Jean-Luc began, and paused. "You were trying to protect Tam, from himself. You didn't want him to go, but I sent him anyway. I'm sorry."

Deanna blinked. "What?"

"I know that you... knew him, before."

She gaped, and all of a sudden, the last week's preoccupations and hesitancy, and the awkward moments, all made sense. "Jean-Luc, Tam wasn't -- we were never together, we weren't what you could call friends. He wasn't close to me in any of the usual ways. I can't talk to you about him."

"Oh." He spent a moment with it. "Oh," he said again, with more understanding. He knew that she couldn't tell him anything about clients, present or past. "But -- you told me -- "

"I told you what you needed to know. I had his permission to do so."

"I thought -- "

She gave in to the impulse and hugged his arm. He spent a moment resettling himself, and then she had to let go, as he put his arms around her and she felt him kissing the top of her head. It was so unexpected, so endearing, and she'd been trying so hard not to feel slighted that he had spent days not really paying much attention to her, that she cried. Just for a bit, and happy tears.

"I have a bottle of wine," he said softly. Then she was laughing, and crying. He stroked her hair and let her do it.

"Tam was lonely, and angry," she said at last, sitting back from him a little.

"You seem to have a knack for helping irascible loners," he said, with some of that self deprecation he was so good at.

She winced, and shook her head at the sky again. "Or not."

jean-Luc sounded sympathetic, and tucked his arm around her waist. "Data told me what happened, on Gomtuu. It sounded to me as though he felt he had found home. That doesn't mean you failed him. Some of us transcend our roots, Deanna. It sounds like he was one of us."

"You think I've transcended my roots," she said, amused in spite of the grief for Tam's lonely existence, the mistakes made, the pain he'd experienced as he attempted to find a place in the Federation that suited him.

"I think you're transcendent."

Deanna lost her breath -- the floating sensation caught her up and carried her away, and it was hard to tell where his feelings ended and hers began. "I think I would like some of that wine."

He was on his feet abruptly, and tugging his uniform straight -- smiling, upright, overcompensating. At her sly look and a giggle, he lost some of the tension in his shoulders. "I wasn't sure, if I could -- I didn't want to sound demanding. I'm sorry that I haven't been around for a few days."

"You wanted to give me space, if I wanted it," she said, stepping around the bench to walk with him toward the exit. "And I was trying to do the same. You were so stiff, when we went back to duty, and you didn't ask me if I wanted to come over, or even hint at it."

"And then we were in the middle of another mission," he said ruefully. "I knew you were dealing with Tam, and I didn't want to disrupt that."

Deanna stopped in front of a massive rose bush and put her hand over her mouth.

"Sometimes... I don't feel that I have a lot to offer you," he murmured. She brought her tear-blurred eyes up in shock, to find him studiously staring at the roses. 

"Jean-Luc." When he looked at her, she gave him a wavering smile. "Are you talking about feeling unable to help me, when I'm feeling overwhelmed, or crying?"

He spread his hands and looked sheepish.

"Hold up your arms, like this," she said, raising her own arms. When he did so, she walked into them and held him tightly. "There you go. All you need to know about what to do with me when I'm crying, no matter what it's about."

"Seems easy enough."

"You don't have to ask if I want to spend time with you," she mumbled into his shoulder. "You could have helped me. I think we could have helped each other. We just... lost our balance for a little while."

He chuckled, in that soft, affectionate way she rarely heard. "It was a wonderful leave. I almost didn't want to come back."

She hummed at that, trying not to think much beyond it. "Shall we go see about the wine?"

It was easier now, to be with him and not feel awkward. Now that she understood his own awkwardness. They walked together, but not touching, through the corridors toward his quarters. As they went in the door he remembered something, with a moment of shock. He turned to her, considering, but came to a decision and went to his desk to fetch the wine and corkscrew.

"What is it?"

"I forgot there was something going on -- Data said there is a poker game tonight."

"But you're not in the mood?"

"Mm, no. I did not subject myself to Beverly's questioning last week so I could play poker."

Deanna returned from the replicator with two wine glasses, to hold them out while he poured. "Was she horribly intrusive?"

"It wasn't as bad as I expected. But she questioned how much I really needed, which is difficult to guess."

"Because it's difficult on the ship to know from one day to the next when you'll have the time to rip off my clothes?"

He sipped -- it was a good wine. "I was hoping you might do that dance?"

"Hm, so you'll need more wine," she said with a smile. "I might be able to swing my hips that way after a little more alcohol."

He smiled, but it became somewhat hesitant. "You don't have to ask either," he said. "If I want to spend time with you. I find myself hoping...."

Deanna smiled at him, sipped her wine, stepped out of the heels she was wearing, and put her hand in the middle of his chest. He let her back him over to the couch, and once he was seated she started to move back and forth slowly, one hip at a time, placing the wine glass on the table, then beginning to peel off clothing. Once naked, she swayed down into his arms and kissed him languidly.

"What are you hoping?" she whispered.

"That you'll never leave," he murmured, before pressing in for a full-mouthed kiss.

Eventually, they came up for air, and she started to feel cold. She ran her hands up inside his shirt. "Not leaving."

"I'm getting the impression you like me because I'm warm."

She grinned -- they were back to normal again, if he could joke about that. "I could be warmer. I could be... hot."

A growl, and she found herself on the floor on her back, with him coming down beside her and starting to work on his uniform while trying to kiss her. She laughed at him, reached for the front of his shirt, and decided she was wrong -- they'd brought their bubble home with them.

 


	13. The Most Toys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Data-centric coda. 
> 
> Yes, I skipped Hollow Pursuits.

Data took note of the counselor's relaxed posture, and adopted the slight smile he'd found to be most effective when dealing with his organic crewmates. "Thank you for seeing me today, Counselor."

Deanna's smile was different than her usual. He struggled sometimes with the nuances of facial expression, but the counselor was one of the few that he could ask, so when they were in her office, he often did. 

"I am attempting to understand but your facial expression is not one that I am familiar with -- how are you feeling?"

"I'm still recovering from thinking you were dead, Data. I'm relieved, and happy, and still a little sad because it isn't unusual to be, when we're reminded of how easily we can lose someone we love," she said. 

"Love?" 

"Why would it surprise you that I care about you?"

"It does not. I do not often hear someone use the word 'love' in relation to me. I know that there is a kind of love that friends feel for one another, but it has not been often that I have heard it used in a direct manner. 'Love' is a word that lovers use, and it seems to connote a stronger emotion than is experienced between friends."

He watched Deanna smoothing down her skirt, a gesture he believed to be something she did when upset and trying to calm herself. "It varies, from one culture to another. I imagine you could recite a number of cultures in which fraternal love or platonic love is considered pre-eminent. But in this context, our friends, our vessel, you're correct. I don't often tell my friends that I love them out of respect for their own comfort level with the word, because it does tend to be used among humans primarily between lovers."

"Why do you love me?"

Deanna blinked, and sat for several minutes thinking, and then smiled -- this one her more familiar, affectionate smile. "Asking why someone loves you is generally not something one can explain in the same way you would explain why gravity holds us on the floor, or why a warp engine needs antimatter. I could talk about attachment, and relationship dynamics, and the things that lead to strong emotional ties, but I think I will say instead that I love you because spending time with you makes me smile, and I think we both enjoy our time together."

"I appreciate your time as well." Data waited for a moment, as a pause was generally observed prior to changing the subject. "I wanted to meet with you today because I am attempting to understand something that happened while I was Fajo's prisoner."

"All right. Tell me about that," Deanna said, crossing her legs and clasping her hands together in her lap. A posture she often adopted while listening.

"Fajo expected me to perform at his bidding, for his guests. He forced me to do things against my will by threatening to kill others. He killed Varria, simply to punish me for being disobedient. He treated me like a possession."

Deanna nodded thoughtfully. Her concern showed in the set of her mouth, the wrinkle of her brow, and he decided that she was actually worried. But he waited for her response. "That would make me very unhappy, perhaps even depressed if I tried and was not able to escape."

"I had already decided that I would not allow him to determine my behavior. I refused to be his slave." Data paused, as subroutines started, and new information came to his awareness.

"Data?" Deanna said, her voice rising in pitch. Worry.

"I was...."

Deanna leaned and put a hand over his. "Angry?"

"I do not understand." There were several things that were confusing, about his current state. 

"An expression crossed your face, just now. I can't sense anything, that continues to be true, but you appeared angry."

He identified the subroutines that had started, and refiled them, raised his eyes and smiled. "I believe that the programming that I saved from Lal has affected me."

"So... you felt something," Deanna said uncertainly. "What was it like?"

"The sensations escape my ability to articulate them. What does anger feel like to you?"

"It's different, depending on what I react to. If I were held prisoner I would feel very upset -- probably an upset stomach, since such strong feelings tend to do that. I would be afraid, and I would be very anxious. Tense. Tight muscles, maybe a headache. Aching in the chest. I might clench my fists. Anger is a primal emotion, very strongly tied to survival."

Data considered that. "I did not want Varria to die. She was kind to me. She spoke to me as if I were a person, where Fajo addressed me in a very condescending manner."

"You were angry that he killed her," Deanna summarized. "That's why you fired the weapon at him."

Data's head jerked up slightly at that. "I -- " He froze, mouth open. Subroutines started, and then more of them, and the processing occupied most of his attention.

"Data? Look at me," Deanna exclaimed. "Data!"

"It was not self defense," he said. "It was not -- I did not fire the weapon."

"Data, what just happened?"

He focused on her at last. She now leaned forward, concerned, watching his face closely. "I believe I was attempting to access memories of my time with Fajo. I find myself wanting to do things that I am explicitly unable to do."

"Such as?"

"Fajo killed Varria. She should not have to die. I should stop him."

Deanna was now sitting beside him. He did not recall watching her move. That should not have happened, and he started to question why it had, but she started to speak.

"I think that your experience with Fajo was traumatic for you, Data," she said calmly. 

"Then I need to process the experience. I should talk to you about it further."

"Data... do you understand why I wouldn't have Dr. Selar as a client?"

"Because Vulcans do not -- you are saying that I am not human and cannot process trauma as humans do, with counseling."

"Correct. What I'm going to suggest are two things -- one, I think you should let Lal go. Two, I think you need to segregate your memories of your time with Fajo from your conscious processes."

Data rarely found a reason to actively frown, but the suggestion was what he thought should be disturbing. "You want me to delete Lal's program from my memory?"

She took his hand -- a gesture she had explained before was one of reassurance and sympathy. "I know you feel that you honor her memory best by keeping her program alive. But just now, I watched you struggle through what I think are emotions -- she had emotions and you do not. She was unique, as you are, but in a different way. Keeping her program in your memory banks would be the same as one Vulcan keeping another's katra in their mind -- it isn't done, at least not under normal circumstances, and when it has been done, it causes difficulties for the keeper of the katra. Do you think that Lal would want you to continue to keep her, if she knew it is causing you to malfunction?"

"I know that she would not. Because I am able to ask her. You are saying that I am malfunctioning because of Lal? I do not understand."

Deanna's smile was sad, and her fingers tightened around his. "I watched you sit here for nearly forty minutes, Data. Do you have explicit memory of that time?"

He checked several things at once -- his chronometer registered the time difference but the counselor was correct. "There are no explicit memories other than the times we spoke to each other. Yet too much time has passed. There is an error but I cannot isolate the cause."

"If you were human I might suspect that there is a trauma-related disorder present. You lost a child, which is traumatic, and you experienced captivity and witnessed a death that you feel responsible for, which for any person with a healthy conscience would be extremely traumatic. But I know that you store and process your experiences in a manner similar to the computer, and so instead of talking to you about feelings that you cannot have, I have to recommend that you handle the problem by removing the problematic code. Neither the memory of being in captivity nor Lal's presence will facilitate your ability to function, and now they are clearly causing difficulties -- it makes the most sense to either store them differently, or to delete them. I think that the conflict, the fault that is keeping you from recognizing that you did something that is incompatible with your nature, is due to Lal -- I think she acted on her feelings, which are not yours, to -- Data, you know that the transporter logged the weapon in your hand as being discharged at the moment of beamout. But when I mentioned that in a manner that indicated it was your intent to fire it, you froze, and time passed, and you were not aware. That tells me there is a direct conflict with your core programming."

"Your suggestions are logical, however... I am hesitant to delete Lal."

Deanna took his arm, something that only she had ever done. Another gesture he had had to seek her help in understanding. "You remember my son?"

"Yes. I do. You were very sad when he ceased to be corporeal and departed. Have I said something amusing?" She was sighing and chuckling, and shaking her head.

"No, you've said something that confirms I'm in Starfleet. Data, I remember Ian very clearly. I remember my experience of him as if it happened last week. But I haven't stored him somewhere and kept him -- he is with me and will always be a part of me, but in a way that does not disrupt my core of my being. It's the same way I remember my father, and grandfather. You don't have to forget Lal to let her die."

Data considered it, and decided that the counselor was correct. He raised his head and met her eyes again. "I have done as you suggested."

She sat up and looked startled. "How do you feel?"

"I feel -- " He assessed, and found that some of the processes that had started before without his bidding were absent. Also some of the sensations he had no words to describe had gone. Those must have been Lal's emotions. "I feel better. I am finding it easier to process my thoughts. I remember Lal, but she is gone. I remember being on Fajo's vessel and that there was something disturbing about that, but the memory has been contained and stored in a segregated manner. Thank you, Deanna."

"I'm afraid our time is over. Would you like to meet again next month?"

"Of course. I know that I need to continue to understand how to interpret emotional content and expression, to develop relationships with my friends. Thank you for your assistance so far."

"You're welcome, Data. I'll see you on the bridge."

Data left the counselor's office without looking back and made his way to the bridge, and relieved the lieutenant he had left at ops. 


	14. Sarek

"You're sure?"

Beverly tried to smile at her son. "Go, have fun. I'm just going to have some wine and relax. I'll be fine."

Wesley didn't look too convinced, but he headed for the door. "Call me if you need me?"

"Go," she exclaimed, waving him off.

Once the door had closed behind him, Beverly replicated the wine she'd mentioned and sat on the couch, tucking her toes under her knee, sipping Cabernet and debating whether to attempt catching up with the medical journal she'd been neglecting. When the chime sounded, she felt a surge of anger -- but caught herself. It wouldn't be Wes, he would have walked in.

She was surprised when the door opened at her command to reveal Deanna. "Hi," she exclaimed.

"I hope I'm not intruding," Deanna said. She had the lavender pantsuit on today, not one of Beverly's favorites, and came over with a fond smile and sat near her.

"I'm surprised to see you. I thought you would be with Jean-Luc."

"He's asleep. Today's experience was harder for him than he thought it was."

Beverly drank a little wine, looked at the table instead of her friend for a moment, and debated talking about it.

"It was harder for you than you want to say," Deanna said quietly.

"Have you ever been in a mind meld with a Vulcan?"

"No. I know that it can be very intense."

Beverly sighed, letting her heavy eyelids close. "Where were you, when he was in the meld with Sarek?"

"In my quarters."

There was too much shame in that admission -- Beverly looked at her, and found that Deanna was lost in thought, her hands in her lap. "Deanna? Are you all right?"

"I am. I suppose I'm tired as well, but I'm not sleepy, if you know what I mean."

Beverly held up the wine glass. "Want some?"

She fetched her own wine, and this time when Deanna sat down she angled more to face Beverly. "Sarek was very ill, wasn't he?"

"I've never seen a Vulcan so emotional -- what a terrible thing to happen to such a proud man." Beverly settled back on the couch and propped an elbow on the back of it. "And Jean-Luc was so overwhelmed, I've never seen him like that. I guess I was surprised that he wanted me to be there."

"Why wouldn't he?"

"I suppose he reasoned there might be a need for medical intervention," Beverly said, raising her glass to her lips. "But you could have paged me. I could have been standing by."

Deanna gave her a strange look, as if she had said something odd. "Was there something that I would have done differently?"

"I guess not. All I did was sit with him."

"But you're uncomfortable, as if being with him was wrong."

"I think... it's more that I know how much he hates being so vulnerable, in front of crew. Or anyone. It was excruciating, having him come into sickbay for -- is everything all right with him?" 

Deanna looked thoughtful, and didn't answer right away, as Beverly expected. Sometimes she missed the days when Deanna would just talk to her. The black-on-black eyes flicked up to meet hers. "I'm worried about him."

"Oh," Beverly said. 

"I should expect performance anxiety, I suppose, from someone who's spent his entire life performing. Meeting expectations, or exceeding them -- winning battles, outwitting opponents, getting promotions...."

"You can probably tell me all about how men are so tied to their sexual performance." Beverly tried to sip instead of drinking -- the glass was emptying too fast. "He couldn't even say anything, when he came into my office."

Deanna did a double-take kind of flinch. "Then how did you know what he wanted?"

"He gave me an empty hypospray, from Risa I suppose. I had to ask a few questions, which I was surprised he answered. I knew better than to attempt to reassure him that it happens to a lot of men, that it doesn't mean there's something wrong with him -- you probably told him that already. That tends to make them feel more self-conscious than ever when it comes from me." Beverly tried not to grin too much. "It says a lot about how he feels about you, you know."

"I wasn't talking about that kind of performance, really. I think he worries about our relationship, that he's doing something wrong."

"That actually makes sense. Not that he should feel that way, but that he does."

For some reason, Deanna couldn't look at her any more. Beverly scooted closer and put a hand on her friend's shoulder.

"I'm sure he's going to keep working through it. You know how determined he can be."

"How did it go, with the mind meld?" Deanna asked softly.

"He didn't suffer any damage. I checked him out, found nothing."

"You're sure about that?" There was a faint note of fear in Deanna's question that Beverly found concerning.

"Absolutely. Did he say something?"

"I could tell he was still in turmoil. There was a lot of residual anger in him. It -- "

Beverly put her glass aside on the table. "Deanna, what's happened? What did he do?"

Deanna shook her head and put her hand to her eye -- that was a precursor to tears, usually. "I was encouraging him to have something to eat. I don't think he's had anything all day. He shouted at me. I knew even then it was probably just residual anger from the meld, but after everything that happened while he was in the meld I couldn't handle it -- I had to leave, and it took me more than an hour to calm down. And I still feel...."

Beverly put her arms around her friend and rocked slowly, and let her cry. There wasn't really anything to say. Eventually Deanna excused herself, looking like death warmed over, and went to her quarters. Beverly finished her wine and what was left of Deanna's abandoned glass, and went to bed herself. 

In the morning she had breakfast with Wesley, sent him off to the bridge, and then checked with the computer as she walked down the corridor. Both Jean-Luc and Deanna were still in their respective quarters. She halted at the captain's door and signaled for entry. It took too long. She was on the verge of overriding the door when it opened.

"Good morning," she said, in her 'doctor voice,' polite and moderately cheerful. Jean-Luc looked like hell, sitting there on the couch -- it reminded her that she had always seen him in uniform unless they'd had to remove it in sickbay. At the moment he wore a robe, and managed to look exhausted despite the night's sleep he supposedly had. "Jean-Luc?"

He rallied, and she could tell it took everything he had to do it. "Good morning, Dr. Crusher."

She shook her head. "So formal, so early. How do you feel?"

He said nothing. He appeared to be trying to burn the carpet with his glaring, as he sat there with his elbows on his knees.

"Feel like having some breakfast? Deanna should be here any time, I'd think."

It became apparent then that he was in the middle of some sort of internal meltdown -- he covered his eyes with his hand. Fortunately she was rescued from having to figure it out by her prediction coming true. Deanna came in, and without hesitation she went to him with tears already streaking her cheeks and sat down, leaned against him, throwing her arm across his shoulders and whispering. 

Beverly started the retreat. She was almost within range of the door sensor when Deanna said, "Are you staying for breakfast, Bev?" And then the counselor was crossing to the replicator, and in a semi-daze Beverly found herself being seated and served.

It was strange, eating breakfast with them when it was clear that he wasn't doing well. He still looked like he needed another eight hours of sleep, but he responded to questions, even talked a little about the meld. Deanna asked him about it as if it hadn't been a completely overwhelming ordeal.

"I expected the difficulty, having such a great abundance of emotion -- it was different than the emotions I'm so familiar with," he said. And he blinked at Deanna, as if experiencing some revelation. "You've said that before, that sometimes the same emotion from different species feel different to you."

"Shades of the same color, so to speak," Deanna said. "Yes."

"As he's losing control his thoughts turn to his wives," Jean-Luc said. "Over and over and over. I suppose that makes sense, as Vulcans bond telepathically with their spouses."

"I can't imagine what that must be like," Beverly said. "Having a telepathic bond."

Deanna said nothing and took another bite of her breakfast. Something about her expression worried Beverly. Jean-Luc was somewhere else, thinking, as he often did while he ate.

Her chest tight, Beverly threw down her fork on her plate. Both of them looked up at her in surprise. 

"I'm sorry," she exclaimed. "I can't do this."

It was almost comical that both of them had the same frown. Jean-Luc blinked. "Beverly?"

"I'm worried about you," she blurted. "I'm worried about your relationship, and your health, and your careers. I'm worried because I can't get a sense of how you're doing."

"We're fine," he said, but Deanna's expression was one of concern as her eyes darted toward him.

"Then why don't you ever look at each other or touch each other, or even just express some sort of affection for each other? It's me, I'm your friend, I promise I won't take pictures!"

Now Deanna rolled her eyes. "Why do you leave the room when I do touch him?"

Jean-Luc dropped his own fork and propped his chin on his fist. "Can't win."

Beverly closed her eyes, instead of rolling them, or crying, or looking at him. Jack had told her once that she needed to speak up sooner, that she had a bad habit of letting things build to the point that she blew like a supernova. Apparently she hadn't grown out of that yet. 

Then again, perhaps she'd been impacted by the ambassador's telepathic outbursts as well.

"I'm sorry," she said faintly. "I guess I'm having trouble with it. I didn't want to, but it's obviously not something I can control. Maybe part of it is Will."

"You've been spending time with him," Deanna said, proving that long-ago assumption she'd made that nothing got by the Betazoid. "More than before, anyway."

"I thought we had settled things with him." Jean-Luc sounded somewhat miffed.

"He's fine with it," Beverly said. "He discussed it with me, on the basis of a first officer making sure the senior officers are all on the same page. But that's the problem. He has us all in agreement that everything's fine. We're all looking out for each other, on duty, and we're all approaching this with the same goal -- we work toward the successful completion of the mission at hand, in the best interests of the Federation and Starfleet, and in theory that's going to mean your relationship won't interfere."

"In theory," Jean-Luc echoed uncertainly. 

"Do you know how hard I tried to get Jack to let me serve on the same vessel, so we could all be together?"

A long, heavy sigh. Beverly opened her eyes, and he was right there looking back at her from across the table, over their half-eaten breakfasts. "I'm sorry that I was an asshole," he said simply.

Deanna's eyes flitted to and fro, uncertainly. "You what?"

Jean-Luc gave her a smile that actually reassured Beverly somewhat -- he was still weary, but he clearly had plenty of feelings left for the Betazoid of his dreams. "I used to be very critical of officers who thought they could fraternize and get away with it."

"You were probably right, at the time," Deanna replied. That sounded like some sort of 'in' joke.

"I am always right," he said with the worst comic arrogance that Beverly had ever seen. Perhaps it was a good thing she had yet to talk him into being in a play.

"I wish Jack were here to kick your ass," Beverly exclaimed, without thinking. Probably because the banter felt like old times, when Jack would crack wise, and Jean-Luc would threaten to kick his ass. 

She regretted it immediately. Jean-Luc retreated into that shell he had, when memories of Jack were in play. 

Deanna sobbed, just once, and covered her mouth with her palm. Her loss of control was a distraction -- now that she was in tears, Jean-Luc stared at her as if it was the worst thing that could happen. And then he was in motion, and before Beverly could see what was coming he had yanked Deanna over to him and wrapped her up in his arms. Somehow he had her in his lap and she was clinging to him as if she might fall off.

It lasted for a while. Beverly waited it out, until Deanna pulled away -- she got to her feet, wobbled a few steps, and went into the bedroom, probably to wash her face. Jean-Luc picked up his fork as if nothing had happened.

"You look like hell, you know," Beverly murmured.

"I wish Jack were here to kick my ass, too. And yours."

"Guess we'll just have to make do without him." Beverly sighed. "Wes is watching me like a hawk lately. He's been accusing me of being depressed."

"Is he right?"

Beverly sighed and picked at her cold omelet with the fork. "Maybe."

The mischief was in his smile, as he paid too much attention to the mess on his plate. "You can borrow my horgha'hn."

It caught her off guard, and she was chuckling when Deanna returned. Her makeup was perfect, and her hair brushed and loose over her shoulders. So she kept makeup in the captain's bathroom -- that made Beverly smile.

"Are you clearing him for duty today?" Deanna asked, sounding like the counselor.

"I'm afraid if I do he won't go back to bed. Did you notice he looks like we dragged him around a field of rocks?"

Deanna looked at him as if assessing the appraisal for accuracy. "No, I didn't notice."

"Because in addition to being always right, I'm always handsome," Jean-Luc said with a wave of his fork.

Beverly and Deanna burst into laughter simultaneously -- Beverly stopped abruptly, at the sound of her friend laughing so freely and joyfully that it was startling. It wasn't the laughter from evenings in Ten Forward, when they were sitting around swapping jokes or talking about something that happened that day. It wasn't the laughter Beverly had heard, when Will was entertaining her over a drink, in the days before Dee had practically moved in with the captain.

After Deanna's mirth subsided, Beverly shot a sly look at Jean-Luc. "Maybe I'll take you up on that offer."

"Offer?" Deanna asked, curiosity piqued.

Jean-Luc glanced over at the bookcase behind his desk -- on the top shelf there was a horgha'hn about a foot tall. "I offered to loan her our souvenir."

Deanna grinned at it. "Did you tell her that it might have residual energy signatures from that brief time it contained a quantum phase inhibitor?"

Beverly felt her eyebrows climbing at that. "What?"

"There was this beautiful woman," Deanna said.

"No," Jean-Luc exclaimed, eyeing her.

"She kissed him in the lobby at the resort, and then a Ferengi threatened him. Then I was held at gunpoint -- I was naked at the time," Deanna said.

"You simply cannot tell a story with any real flair, can you?" he complained.

"I'm leaving out the boring parts where we were in the hot tub, the bed, on the floor -- "

Now he practically threw down his fork. "Boring!"

"It's much more fun to have sex than to talk about it," Deanna said, stabbing the last berry on her plate.

Beverly started to laugh, again. "I'm so glad we've had this conversation. Let me know when you have the story straight -- it sounds interesting. I'd better get to sickbay. And I wasn't kidding about keeping you on medical leave, so go back to bed."

"Thank you," Deanna said. She averted her eyes, shrugging a little. "I'm sorry that I lost it."

"After yesterday, I think all three of us felt battered, emotionally. You just got it out of our system," Beverly said, coming around the table to pat her friend's shoulder. "You should probably follow him in there and make sure he gets some sleep." She got halfway to the door and remembered. "Just let me know if you need more medication. I made sure we have an ample supply on hand. I code-named it Love Potion Number Nine, to protect confidentiality."

She made it out before the swearing started, and walked away from the captain's quarters with a grin. As she reached the lift, Will caught up to her. He came in behind her, glanced at her face, and sniffed. "If it's that good, you should share it."

"Have you ever heard the captain swear?"

"Can't say that I have."

"He's very good at it."

Will's smile dwindled somewhat. "Maybe I should let you hang on to that unique talent for a while."

Beverly smirked, patted his arm, and left the lift on deck ten. Time for some crew physicals.


	15. Transfigurations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I briefly considered rewriting Menage a Troi, but the episode has never interested me at all -- I skip it when streaming eps mostly due to the lack of interest in tolerating some of the stupidest Ferengi in any of the series. Also, it's one of those episodes where Troi and Riker can't make up their minds about their relationship, and nothing gets solved either through technobabble or diplomacy or anything but sheer manipulation of simple-minded aliens. Poor Lwaxana has to touch Ferengi ears. Earwax, not sexy. The whole thing makes me feel sorry for the actors. Surely there are better ways to get Picard to quote poetry. 
> 
> Onward to Transfigurations, which is Crusher-centric, for the most part. The episode takes place over several months, according to the dialogue -- it isn't quite clear what the ship is doing throughout that period, have to assume exploring the area because it's stated up front that's the case and nothing indicates otherwise. Everyone likes John, because he's got that glow... and he's nice. One of the nicest, non-psycho, non-raving, non-crazy guests of the week there has ever been. He seems to be the perfect boyfriend for Beverly, except he has to go and change completely into a different kind of entity, and become incompatible. Poor Bev -- she seems to have that kind of luck (ref: Odan, Ronin - tho Ronin was simply never what he appeared to be). Maybe it's a good thing she never got with Picard in the series, he might have become a space salamander or something (that's what Janeway evolved into....).

"Mom needs help," Wes said.

Jean-Luc studied the young Mr. Crusher -- usually he spoke to him on the bridge, in the ready room, during active duty shifts. But Wes had come to him after hours, and it was curious for him to come making requests on behalf of his mother.

"How do you mean? Please, sit down."

Wes nervously perched on the edge of one of the chairs, still half at attention. "I think -- she's -- I'm sorry, sir. I know you don't involve -- but I know you're friends, and I don't think she's talking to anyone about it."

"You realize I think that she's capable of handling herself, and that I'm not the counselor," Jean-Luc said, trying not to sound harsh. He was also concerned -- John Doe had over the months he had been aboard been one of Beverly's patients. And, he knew, more than just a patient. 

Wes looked at the floor. "I know. It's -- " He didn't seem able to continue.

"I share your concern, Wes. I'm sure she'll be all right. I'll try to talk to her, as I was going to do anyway. I'll see you in the morning on the bridge."

The young man nodded. "Okay. Thank you, Captain."

Wes almost ran into Deanna, as he bounded forth into the corridor. She sidestepped, giving the ensign a smile before coming into the room. "What do you want for dinner?"

"Anything you like."

She turned to look at him sympathetically, and then put in orders manually on the panel at the replicator. "No appetite again," she said.

"As usual."

"We're not even in the middle of anything," she said, bringing a couple of plates to the table. He rose from the couch to join her, coming up behind her, running a hand down her shoulder and leaning in to kiss her.

"It's been better, since you came along. Even when you were only my counselor -- you laugh," he said, pulling out a chair for her.

"I tried to convince you to change your habits, and you kept ignoring me," she said. "I had to practically move in to get you to stop neglecting yourself."

"Thank you, for that." He touched her cheek before moving to seat himself. "Wes is worried about his mother."

"I'm worried about her, you're worried about her. I think Data may be the only one who hasn't been concerned. She hasn't shown any interest in the usual things, hasn't been to Ten Forward in a week. I just tried to get her to come have dinner with us."

"What do you think?"

He knew she'd never be Beverly's counselor -- technically, Beverly was her supervisor. He knew the two were close friends. As they'd been exploring this sector, charting and doing planetary surveys, life had become more predictable. Days had settled into a stable routine, and so he'd seen Deanna on an ongoing basis, morning and night, sometimes taking an afternoon in the holodeck as well. And they'd been spending more time with friends. Will had joined them a few times on the holodeck, and Beverly still came for breakfast every so often.

Until John's departure to a higher plane, anyway. Now Beverly reported for duty and went to her quarters, and hardly looked at anyone.

Deanna chewed a mouthful of her salad, thinking. "I know she'll be all right. But I also understand why Wes is concerned. She was lonely before, and then she -- "

"I know she was starting to feel closer to him," Jean-Luc said, when Deanna caught herself in the act of revealing things she normally kept to herself. It said something, that she occasionally did that while talking to him about friends -- he had started to recognize the true nature of how much Deanna sensed from people, how much she kept to herself, and then too, how much she had relaxed into their relationship.

"It's telling that she forgot that he wouldn't be a permanent resident," Deanna said. "That he would likely move on, regardless of how that might happen. He wasn't even a Federation citizen."

Jean-Luc thought about the situation, and about relationships in general -- his own history of isolation. "I'm going to talk her into coming over for a glass of wine."

"You're hiding things from me," Deanna said with a smile. "I thought we'd run out."

"Well... I might have a bottle of the pinot left." And a couple of others -- he'd intended to break it out for her birthday, just a couple of months away. He wasn't certain they would make it to a starbase before then to acquire more.

"You're a good friend. I'll have the glasses ready. Do you want anything else to eat?"

"No, but we might want to have something to go with the wine -- I'm sure you'll find something suitable by the time I'm back?"

She stood as he did, and came to him, put her arms around him. It brought him to a halt; she pressed her lips against his temple and held on. It was a familiar feeling, having her close, but it still made him happier.

"What are you thinking?" she mumbled, stepping back slightly but not away from him.

"Nothing new. Just that I continue to be surprised that this old dog is still learning new tricks."

"Well, isn't that what's keeping you in Starfleet?"

He ran his lips across her forehead. "Have you ever seen me be this happy before?"

"Not really. I also sometimes have difficulty distinguishing between my happiness and yours, as well."

"I can tell you that I've never felt like this before."

She blinked, as they parted, and her smile broadened. "You've never been happy?"

"There is a difference between being satisfied with an accomplishment, and feeling at home with someone you care about."

"Someone you love," she rephrased, running her hand down the front of his uniform.

Jean-Luc sighed, wanted to touch her -- but there was time for that later. She hadn't spent a night in her own quarters in weeks. And thinking about that led to wondering, about the logistics and the potential fallout of simply moving her in.

"Jean-Luc?"

"Later. I'll go get the wine, and Beverly." He kissed her cheek, and moved off on his mission.

The lift was empty til deck nine, when it halted and unexpectedly Will came in, out of uniform and grinning. Jean-Luc eyed the tall, wet man in green shorts with raised eyebrow.

"I was swimming on the holodeck," Will explained.

"Forgot a towel?" It was perhaps understandable that the younger man had not an ounce of stray flab anywhere, but still unfair. He knew Will wasn't as fanatical about physical fitness as most, and didn't really do any weight work. Just keeping up with the physical fitness requirements kept Jean-Luc in the gym at least four times a week.

"Where are you off to this time of day?" Will watched the panel as the lift traveled onward, to deck thirty-one.

"We are launching an assault on the depression of Beverly Crusher. I've been dispatched to fetch the wine."

Will's smile was gone, just like that. "It doesn't look like it's lifting, does it. I tried to get her to come to jazz night in Ten Forward a couple of days ago. No joy."

"Wine and cheese may fail as well, but when Wesley shows up appealing to me to help her, something's definitely going on."

"I guess time and friends is the only solution. As usual."

Will followed him from the lift, unexpectedly. He stopped and turned to frown at his first officer. "I know where your stash is," Will said. "Cargo bay 24-C, bottom shelf."

"Hmph."

The cargo bay was as cavernous as they all were, and the process of unburying and opening the container in which he'd hidden things resulted in echoing thuds. He extracted the bottle of wine and started to replace items while Will held open the lid.

"Birthday present for anyone we know?" Will asked, gesturing at the small box wrapped in silver foil.

"Nothing to see here." Jean-Luc shoved the last container back in and stepped back. Once the two smaller containers were stacked atop his larger one, they turned for the exit. He thought, as they returned to the turbolift, that Will was now thinking about something that led to tension and frowning. And as they rode back up to deck eight, the reason was forthcoming.

"Everything's been going well, for a while. Hasn't it?"

Jean-Luc heard it coming for a parsec. "But?"

"I don't know."

"Will...."

"Never mind."

The lift stopped, but Jean-Luc put out a hand and hit the stop, keeping the doors closed. "But?"

"I shouldn't have said anything. I just -- thought about how happy Deanna has been, but I can't help wondering...."

"You can keep wondering. If it appeases the curiosity you can assume we'll get married and have fifteen children named after the constituent components of a warp engine. It won't necessarily happen that way, more than likely we'll continue as we've been until we reach a consensus to change things...."

Will had started to chuckle as he spoke. "Plasma Manifold Picard does have a ring to it. And he'll have sisters, Dilithium and Nacelle. The baby, Conduit, and his twin, Injector."

"No real concerns?"

"Nothing in terms of duty, no. I think we're good."

"Excellent. Go put on some clothes and stop dripping on the carpets." Jean-Luc smacked the panel and left the lift, marching off to Beverly's door.

She came to the door as Will was passing along behind Jean-Luc on the way to his quarters, and then stared at their first officer in his shorts. She herself wore what looked like pajamas. In green satin, no less. "I'm beginning to feel overdressed," Jean-Luc commented, glancing back and forth. "I'm here to drag you off to drink wine."

Beverly crossed her arms. "Your charm only increases with age, you know."

Will started to laugh, and sped up as he did so, probably to get away from the glaring. Jean-Luc sighed. "Would you like to come? Deanna's waiting hopefully." He held up the bottle.

Beverly looked at it speculatively, chewing her lower lip. "I'm not really in a mood for socializing."

"I understand," he said softly. "Believe me. It's why I'm here."

"Mom?" Wes' voice came from farther inside distantly. Wes appeared behind her, and grinned upon seeing Jean-Luc. "Hi, Captain."

"Hello, Wesley." He smirked at Beverly. "You know, if you give her a push -- "

"Let me change, all right? I'll be there in a minute," Beverly exclaimed, reaching back to put an arm around her son and turning away from the door.

Jean-Luc returned to find Deanna had also changed, from her blue dress into a looser, more flowing one in a variegated blue-green. She waited with three wine glasses, a small tray of finger foods, and a corkscrew on the coffee table in front of her.

"She'll be here shortly. I caught her in her pajamas," he said, sitting down and reaching for the corkscrew.

"It isn't even nineteen hundred yet -- I'm glad she's coming."

Beverly took too long to get there, but arrived hesitantly, moving slower than usual, and Jean-Luc missed his confident, energetic friend. He smiled faintly at her and reached to pour wine in the third glass for her. Deanna moved closer to him, leaving plenty of space on the other end of the couch, which Beverly took.

"This is good," she said after a sip of the noir. "Thank you."

"I'm hoping we'll be able to take a side trip to take some leave," Deanna said. "You said we were almost done charting this sector?"

"It's more likely we'll be sent where Risa isn't," he said, and got a look from both women that said they knew him that well. They glanced at each other knowingly.

"He always gets that vague with the clipped tone when it's going to be bad," Deanna said quietly. "I was wondering if you would be joining us tomorrow night, for the concert? Will's promised to make an attempt at playing actual music instead of just playing around with his trombone."

She was joking at Will's expense, trying to get a smile out of Beverly, and almost succeeded. Beverly stared down at her wine as the wisp of a smile faded. "Maybe I shouldn't have come."

"Maybe you should go hide, the way you always told me I shouldn't," Jean-Luc said amiably.

Her blue eyes met his, and then she turned away again. "It always sounds right, until you're in the middle of it yourself. I should apologize to you for pushing you that way."

"Or I should apologize to you for ignoring you, because you were smarter than I was."

Deanna, meanwhile, stared at the floor and looked like she wanted to crawl under the table. He realized he'd gone soft -- he didn't like seeing her unhappy that way, even when he knew it was more than likely a reflection of the emotions of the others in the room more than anything she experienced herself. It led to wanting to do something about it.

"I should warn you, Will's taken it upon himself to name our children," he said.

That led to wide-eyed staring, on both their parts. Too bad he hadn't taken the time to think about the potential reactions to such a non sequitur. Deanna's grin appeased the sudden horror of realizing he'd probably used a photon torpedo where a hand phaser would have done. "I guess he must be the better psychic, I hadn't realized we had any children."

"Naming other people's children and wandering around in his underwear -- are you sure your first officer is sane?" Beverly asked.

"I believe he'd been swimming, there's a puddle in the lift. I'd also suppose that he's not the only one predicting our future. Beverly is probably saner if we want to delegate naming the children, as well."

"I'm almost afraid to ask, but what is Will naming them?" Beverly finally had an amused light in her eyes.

"Plasma and Dilithium, and Nacelle."

They laughed together quietly, and Deanna shifted, bringing her legs up beneath her as she did when really relaxing; it brought her closer to him, and putting an arm around her was only natural by this point. But it put a damper on Beverly's mirth, sent her gaze darting away from them.

"Tell me about John," Deanna said softly, surprising him. "I didn't spend much time with him. My schedule of appointments has kept me busier than usual."

Beverly's expression led him to think she would set aside the wine, leave, and Jean-Luc was ready to ask her not to go -- but then she looked up at Deanna. "I'm not sure what to say about him. He was a good friend. A good listener. I -- "

Deanna waited, as still and relaxed as always, and Jean-Luc wondered how the hell she did it. All the time, he thought, session after session, client after client. Watching Beverly try not to cry was painful for him. He glanced down when Deanna's hand crept into his, and oddly a memory of being at the starbase, walking Beverly in to see Jack's body, flashed through his mind. Beverly had taken his hand then, in an absent manner that said she was grasping for comfort with the friend she was with. Trying to anchor herself as if the grief might sweep her away.

Deanna's hand tightened, and he raised his eyes to find her looking at him with concern in her eyes. He shook his head and tried to shrug it off, tried to smile.

"That's what I miss," Beverly said. It brought their attention back to her, as she sipped her wine and then raised it to them, pointing with her finger. "That's what it started to feel like. It's what I had with Jack. You start to read each other, and it's like you've found your better half."

"I'm sorry, Beverly," Jean-Luc said.

"I know. I'm sorry that I've been such a recluse. But -- it starts to feel like I'm never going to stop mourning," she exclaimed, in a rush as the tears started. "I had to be so _there_ for Wesley, because he was so young. I couldn't just mourn. And it took a long time to get past losing Jack, and while there have been -- occasions, I never let it go anywhere. I had a son. I wanted to focus on him. Now that he's old enough I finally felt like I could start again. But it's -- "

Deanna pulled away, to go to their friend, and Jean-Luc left his glass on the table and retreated to the bedroom, to finally remove the uniform. By the time he pulled a shirt over his head Deanna joined him, and threw her arms around his ribs.

"She's gone home. I think she'll be all right. She hadn't been crying about it at all. But I made her promise to come to breakfast."

Jean-Luc sighed heavily and hugged her, trying not to let himself think about loss. He realized after a moment that Deanna was sniffling quietly, even crying a little, and put his hand on her head, stroking her hair gently.

"Sometimes I think about what would happen, if -- " Her voice broke as she buried her face against his shoulder.

"I know," he said against her hair. "When we broke it off, thinking about it was the only thing that kept me from coming to your door, some nights. I took Beverly to see Jack's body. I had never seen such desolation before. I can't think of you -- "

She clung to him, her fingers twisting handfuls of his shirt. "Then don't die," she demanded.

"Of course not," he said with a matching amount of ire. "Will hasn't picked godparents for poor little Plasma Manifold yet."

It did the job neatly. She coughed, and laughed, and though it wasn't the transcendent happy laugh he loved to hear, it was enough to get them off the rocks and shoals for the moment. He managed to nudge her into the bathtub from there, and go to bed with a smiling, naked Betazoid reptile in need of warming.

He suspected, however, that it was not the last time they would find themselves in such a mood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This cycle of codas is about to come to an end, with Best of Both Worlds, which is up next. Departure from canon infrastructure imminent. Because within the span of two episodes, Transfigurations and then BOBW, we see how extremely inconsistent medical tech is when the writers don't care about consistency. John is in sickbay for some weeks, yet Picard is un-Borged in a crazy-short amount of time. Stardates from the first and second part of BOBW and the following episode Family, when converted, reveal that the Enterprise starts out on their adventure to confront the Borg on Dec 28 in the first episode, Riker logs on Jan 1 in the second, and then Picard is back to Earth leaving the ship to visit his brother on Jan 5. 
> 
> Uh... NO. Don't think so. I really doubt Wolf 359 is that close to Earth, as well. I will attempt to be more consistent with the Borg as they were further developed in Voyager, where Seven's transformation was far more gradual and traumatic. Stay tuned....


	16. Best of Both Worlds, Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So BOBW, which is one of my favorite episodes -- but still with the ????
> 
> * Why do they destroy the cube and then no concerns that there might be others? Fleets happen, right?  
> * Drones are people vs. drones are tools, or compromised, or potential assets... Would there possibly be a Drone Gitmo? Would they believe that a drone could be recovered, or withhold judgment until they know? Picard was the first. There would be questions, and cautiousness, at the very least.  
> * You think the fallout would include a little crazy emotional roller coaster, post-battle, for the various officers?  
> * Bad assumptions are just good assumptions that turn out to be incorrect, sometimes. I think they might have some bad assumptions until more information is available.

"Why do you have counselors in Starfleet if you don't intend to listen to them?"

Deanna knew she had shocked both Will and Commander Shelby, but she didn't care. She'd heard enough, and she'd had it -- Jean-Luc's wild little suspicion didn't sound so paranoid to her, now.

The admiral on the screen looked as shocked as they felt. "Counselor, I believe you've made your case -- but the fact remains that as great a man as he was, Captain Picard was assimilated by -- "

"You need to listen to Mr. Data's reports," she said, aware that she sounded like an angry, scolding mother. "You need to remember that the captain _saved the Federation_ by giving us what we needed to stop the Borg. _I will not let you use him._ "

Hanson's expression shifted now to guarded and tolerant. "I know your captain -- I have the highest respect for him. He's done amazing things for Starfleet, achieved miracles on behalf of the Federation, and I can assure you that his reputation will remain untarnished -- "

"Maybe you didn't hear us when we told you he is _alive_ , Admiral," she went on coldly. "You could _ask_ him about the Borg. He can tell you more than you think -- he was directly connected to their hive mind, you know."

"That will be all, Counselor," Will said evenly, with the undercurrent of tension he'd been keeping under wraps for hours. He was angry with her for her outburst. She didn't look at him, swept out of the ready room under the sympathetic gaze of Commander Shelby.

Deanna tore the pips off her collar in the lift and flung them against the wall. She could almost hear his voice telling her to not make rash decisions -- the captain had always been an advocate of calm and rational. So had she -- the counselor was always controlled and calm. But at this moment she didn't think calm was called for, and she didn't care if she saw another admiral again.

Nodding to the security officer in the corridor outside, she went in, and found main sickbay was quiet at last, the handful of remaining injured all in various states of consciousness on the biobeds. She met Ogawa's gaze briefly, ignored the assorted nurses and assistants minding their charges, veered left and made her way to the quiet, more remote area that had been partitioned off from the rest of the sickbay complex. The lights here were dimmer, and the single bed in the center of the room wasn't a standard biobed. They'd had to rig something that was a hybrid of the Borg alcove and a biobed, to keep him alive. He had fallen unconscious shortly after the destruction of the cube. Implants had begun to malfunction. Beverly had performed a marathon surgery to remove the majority of the 'additions' the Borg had grafted onto his body, but there was still work to do -- there were millions of nanoprobes left in his body, apparently designed to maintain a Borg drone and continuing to do it without direction from the Collective. Beverly posited that the assimilation process had been altered for the occasion -- Locutus had not been a regular drone -- and perhaps the alterations had been incomplete.

Deanna sat in the chair she'd left at his side, and took his hand. The one that hadn't been taken from him -- Beverly was still working on his left arm, starting to build a bionic replacement that would match his remaining hand, and the blankets thankfully covered the stump. Seeing it earlier had been upsetting; fortunately he had still been unconsious. He opened his eyes, and his mouth twitched in a parody of his usual smile. He was so tired, and she could sense the pain -- it felt like he was on fire, the tingling that had started after the first surgery hadn't abated, and he said nothing about it to anyone. He'd told her he didn't want to be completely numb.

"You keep coming back," he croaked. He'd just woke up. "Lousy place to meet people, you know. The ambience is terrible."

"We're supposed to transfer you to Starfleet Medical in the morning. The ship will be in dry dock for a couple of months, they say. I'm looking forward to having you show me the sights."

His eyebrow twitched. "I appreciate your optimism."

"There's a resort in Brazil that sounds lovely." Maybe she could get him to talk about something frivilous for a while, so she could relax a little with him. 

A pain lanced through his brow, and the resulting wince told her he was too tired for this. "Come here," he said softly.

Deanna carefully sat on the edge of the bed, and leaned against his chest, trying to avoid putting her weight on him. He sighed, and as her cheek came to rest on his shoulder she felt his nose and chin against the back of her head. Tears burned her eyes again, as he started to feel a different kind of pain.

"Once I am transferred, I will likely be unable to be with you. They'll want to examine me thoroughly. Command knows that if the Borg come again we are all doomed."

She sat up and stared at him, unable to stop the angry tears. He wasn't even hinting any more. "Is that what you want?"

He was too pale, too frail -- he spoke too slowly, with hardly any volume. He was so unlike the man she'd seen on the bridge, on away missions -- it was as though he'd been drained of everything he'd had. She hovered over him, willing him to fight.

His dry lips parted, but it took him a moment to muster the effort -- he went on in resolute certainty with a great, wrenching pain in his chest. "I am useless to you, Deanna. They took everything I had left. You know that I would give my life for you, and I cannot -- " He swallowed and tears started to work their way from his eyes. "If there is some way that I can help them keep the Borg at bay, I will let them do whatever they will."

"You're lying," she exclaimed, sitting back, unable to stop trembling in fury. "You're lying to yourself. You're tired, everything hurts, and you're trying to give up -- you think you're an old man and you've never believed you had anything to offer me in a relationship. You lied about enjoying a challenge. You told me you never wanted me to leave, was that a lie too?"

He gazed at her with the hazed-over look of someone under heavy sedation, which he wasn't -- Beverly had been slowly tapering the medications down to prepare him for the next phase of treatment, physical therapy and finding a way to remove nanoprobes. Data and Geordi were working in a lab with Wes and the rest of the staff toward that end, finding a safe way to inactivate them so his body could finish recovering. There would be another surgery to remove implants left in the brain, but not until he was stronger.

That was Beverly's treatment plan, anyway. It didn't sound like he thought it would happen.

She knew he loved her. She wanted him to -- she wanted him to move toward life again. She wanted more than ever before to be able to just reach in and fix it -- sometimes sitting with people week after week watching them so stuck in depression or anguish over mistakes wore on her. There had to be something she could say, anything, to pull him out of this. She wanted her forward-moving, forward-thinking captain to come back and talk some sense into this husk he'd turned into.

Maybe that was what he really needed -- himself. Kicking his own ass.

She took his hand again and frowned, glaring at him. "Things are only impossible until they are not."

He blinked, with the hint of a scowl. It was a direct quotation from him, and he wasn't remembering that.

"Let me tell you about someone I know," she said firmly. "Someone who never let himself be deterred by orders, who did the right thing even when it was inconvenient, or against the Prime Directive. He taught me that making mistakes wasn't fatal. He taught me more about myself even when I was supposed to be helping him. Let me tell you about someone who can't figure out why people love him, can't understand why they want to stand up for him -- when all he ever did was stand up for them, and for people who had no one to save them. I know what he would do for you. If he were here."

A long, low groan at that. He would be laughing in that humorless, helpless way of his, if he could.

"I hate your pathology," she said, gulping, trying to not sob as she spoke. "I hate it when you come to some point where you feel like the end is nigh, you're about to die, and because you aren't some durable young god who can twist reality around his little finger to solve the problem and save the day, you're useless. The only thing that saves the day at times is hope -- if you find it, you get up and keep trying, and then things start to work again. You kept giving me hope. Are you going to take it all away from me now?"

She paused for a moment, regrouping. Now he was laying there with his eyes closed, with a smile that said he knew he was deserving of the ass-kicking. He'd started to shift his mood as well. When she went on, she spoke without the hard edged anger.

"I hate that you feel like you don't deserve that I love you," she said, bursting into anguished tears at last. "You promised you wouldn't die! Why do you think this is any better? Why do you think I'm going to go on being happy without you?"

His hand closed on her wrist, and he tugged at her. "Come here," he said, with more volume than before. It was an order.

She ended up on the bed with him, in the space along the edge, his good arm around her with his hand on her waist.

"Tell me what Hanson said," he muttered, once she had settled as carefully as she could with her head on his pillow next to his.

"He said something about taking full advantage of the opportunity to study what we've recovered and to closely examine the effects of assimilation, and the nanoprobes and how the brain -- I'm not a doctor but I know the terminology he used, they want to take you apart."

"More than Beverly already has?"

"Hanson's afraid. They're all afraid. They would be stupid, arrogant not to be. Fear makes people do stupid things."

"Such as shouting at admirals?"

Will's voice behind her made her freeze -- she'd known he was approaching, but not that he would dare to come all the way in without announcing himself.

"What did she do?" Jean-Luc asked. He was doing what he did whenever another officer came in the room -- pushing himself to sound normal.

Deanna moved off the bed, stood near his head and turned to Will -- it was a toss-up whether she felt more embarrassed or more frustrated. Will stood at the foot of the bed.

"Where are your pips?" he asked unexpectedly.

"I'm sorry I lost my temper, Will."

Will crossed his arms and was not smiling, felt the sort of resignation that she hated -- it meant he felt he had no choice in something. "I asked Dr. Crusher to provide documentation of everything that's been done, and Data's put together a comprehensive technical report -- he's been working around the clock since we left Wolf 359."

"It won't be enough," she said flatly.

"I need to talk to -- " He sighed when she sat down in the chair rigidly. "Deanna. Let me try to work this out. You know I'll do whatever I can to help him. You're not helping, you're losing perspective here."

"You look as tired as I do, Deanna," Jean-Luc said. "Go on."

She glared at him, but now he was eyeing her with a soft, warm sort of determination -- at least there was one battle she hadn't lost. He waved his fingers vaguely as if shooing her off.

"You've been here all night. All morning. Go get some sleep."

She'd actually been there more than that, but he hadn't been awake to know that. There was still a kink in her neck that had taken up residence after she'd fallen asleep in the chair waiting for him after the surgery. That had been after exhausting herself with hours of trying not to lose it imagining the possibility that the nanoprobes and the implants had irreparably damaged his mind. He had seemed lucid enough for a few moments after the cube exploded; Dr. Crusher's concerns were initially that the altered tissues would start to decay, flooding his bloodstream with toxins, and hearing the chatter in the operating theater had given Deanna such a feeling of heart-rending dread that she hadn't been able to think or to leave sickbay.

"When you come back you could sneak in some good bourbon," Jean-Luc muttered, losing steam.

"Don't talk for long," she told Will. "He's only pretending he's got the energy. He needs sleep more than I do."

She left them there and made it as far as main sickbay before her body reacted to the overwhelming amount of tension she felt in a way she couldn't prevent. What little was left in her stomach nearly landed on Beverly's boots -- the staff went into action to clean it up as Beverly guided her away to her office.

Beverly, too, was feeling the tension -- she was tired, but had obviously gotten some sleep herself. Deanna knew she would catnap on a biobed if she had to. The doctor turned from the replicator with a cup of herbal tea and handed it off to her, then sat on the edge of her desk. She had her reassuring lecture face on, tempered by a real smile instead of the doctor's demeanor.

"I know," Deanna said quietly. She shook her head sadly. "Please don't."

Beverly put her hands on her knees and leaned forward a little. "He's going to be fine."

"Until they hand him over to researchers and scientists, in the name of the Federation," Deanna said, with a sarcastic, angry tone she never used.

It removed the affection from Beverly's expression, and she tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. "He's Captain Picard. They wouldn't do that."

"Hanson was practically writing his epitaph," Deanna exclaimed. "I hate being a counselor! If I were Shelby, he would have _heard_ me, but all these old men can see when they look at me is a _counselor_ , which is a nothing designation, too new to the fleet and of course none of them ever needed therapy because nothing that ever happened to them really affected them at all -- that they'll admit, anyway, because it's only a problem if you admit it is. Every single class at the Academy, I was 'just a counselor' -- "

"Deanna," Beverly interrupted. "You're taking all of this personally."

"And now the problem becomes clearer -- you all think I'm overemotional because I'm in love with him. As if the minute something like this happens, I forget that he's Captain Picard -- I can't possibly be upset because they want to take apart the first commanding officer I've worked with who treats me like I'm more than 'just a counselor.' I'll settle down when they start settling down, start to treat him like he's one of us, instead of an enemy." Deanna put the tea on Beverly's desk, untouched. "In the meantime, I'm going to follow orders and get some sleep."

She stalked out and got as far as the lift on self-righteous indignation, got to deck eight and as the door opened she noticed her pips were still on the floor of the lift. She dropped to one knee and picked them up, two solid, one hollow. As she started to get up, a hand came into her field of vision -- she took it, smiling, and let Geordi help her up.

"Hi," he said, with that same sad smile everyone was giving her now. "You okay?"

"I would say so, if I thought you would believe it. How are things going, Geordi?"

"I was just heading back down to Data's lab. We're running some tests on the implants, looking for weaknesses to exploit -- I think we might be able to disrupt the neural network that links the drones to the Collective."

"That sounds like it has potential. Have you asked the captain about it?"

Geordi stared at her -- she'd surprised him. "I didn't think we'd be able to -- isn't he still in sickbay?"

"He's talking to Will at the moment. You should probably give him a few hours, he's very tired most of the time, but he doesn't sleep all the time and he -- he'd want to help," she amended, deciding on encouragement rather than full disclosure. "Even if it's difficult to talk about he wants to do whatever he can to address the Borg threat."

The engineer nodded thoughtfully. "Data said he wanted to go see him later. I'll talk to him about it."

"You're not going to visit?"

Geordi winced a little and crossed his arms. "I... guess."

Deanna smiled fondly at him. "He would appreciate a little company."

"Okay," Geordi said faintly.

She moved down the corridor, and he moved into the lift. She knew Geordi was uncomfortable, nervous -- it was part of the atmosphere of the ship, everyone's emotions in a turmoil, between the battle with the Borg, the fear that more cubes might be on the way, the losses they had suffered, and knowing that the captain was in sickbay and why. It was part of what wore on her so much.

She realized a moment after she did it that she'd walked past her own door, and was heading for the captain's. But she kept going. She stood in his empty living room, and remembered how much she'd enjoyed being there with him over the past months. Their last wine bottle, empty, had rolled off the table along with the last couple of glasses they'd used -- probably casualties of the battle. She picked them up, nearly laying on the floor to reach the bottle under the chair. She ran all of it into the recycler and made a note to request that maintenance come by to clean the wine stain from the gray carpet between the couch and table.

A very domestic thing for her to do, she thought, heading into the bedroom. And there she was confronted by the bed, unmade as they had left it, and she started to pick up clothing, his and hers, putting it in the laundry slot. Eventually she sat down on the end of the bed and cried -- this time it wasn't just a flow of tears, but sobbing, wailing, as she held her stomach and rocked herself back and forth.

She woke what felt like days later, uncurling and sitting up from where she'd clearly fallen on the foot of the bed. Her face felt sticky and swollen, and her hair was a hellish mess -- she'd been tossing around from the lay of the covers. And the chime sounded again, as she realized that it was what awakened her. It took a minute for her to realize that it had to be someone looking for her. Tempting to not respond, but she went out and admitted the person waiting in the corridor. She stared across the threshold at Will.

"Can I come in?" he asked, after a moment.

She waved him in and followed him over to sit on the couch as if she accepted visitors in the captain's quarters all the time. "Something's changed?"

Will sighed, and his faint smile told her things had. "I'm sorry that I dismissed you the way I did, earlier."

"He's our captain, Will, he's not Borg. Please tell me that I don't have to call my mother and solicit her help in finding a place to keep him away from people who want to harm him," she exclaimed, surprising herself with how much feeling came up.

He blinked at that. "I don't think that will be necessary. I don't think the admiral was saying that anyone would hurt him, Deanna, they just want to examine him."

She felt herself tensing up again, and tried not to sound strident -- this was Will, they were on the same side. He just wasn't agreeing with them. "Will, the admiral was talking about more than treatment. Jean-Luc thinks he will be viewed as having been compromised -- he doesn't think they'll let him return to active duty, and he thinks they want to examine him in a more invasive manner. He has more experience than either of us, with the ways of Starfleet in war."

"He sounded fairly positive to me. I think we'll be fine, I talked to Hanson again just now and he's reassuring me that he understands that emotions are running high and you weren't intending insubordination, just on the defensive. I asked him directly about the captain and what they intend to do with him. He said that since we spoke this morning he's met with doctors there, who have reviewed Dr. Crusher's report and are already making plans to bring in the best neurosurgeon they can get, Starfleet or otherwise."

Deanna closed her fingers tightly around her pips, until they were hurting her fingers. "Will...."

He looked at her wearily, and gave his head a shake. "Don't do this, Deanna. I know how much you love him, and I think it's going to be all right -- you can relax."

"I'm not being paranoid," she said, and took a deep breath -- a little too much anger, in that. She went on with more calm. "He was about to go along with whatever they have planned -- he tried to tell me to move on, because he thinks he's not going to be -- "

She couldn't sit -- she leaped up and paced away, around the table, wanting to hit something. She never felt like hitting things.

"Have you gotten any sleep lately?"

"Why am I the only person thinking about the captain? Will, what would you do, if you came upon an isolated drone and had the opportunity? Would you remove the implants and set him free?" she exclaimed.

He watched her as if she might be dangerous. But he thought about it. "No," he said at last.

"You would study him. How would you do that? Knowing that the Federation might be assimilated at any time, every man, woman, and child over hundreds of worlds. Would you settle for a tricorder?"

Will rubbed his chin, and was obviously doing his best to be calm, though his frustration was coming through loud and clear. "You are talking about Starfleet -- we don't do what you're suggesting, Deanna."

"I'm talking about people. We have biases, Will. We have fears. We have survival instincts. Admirals, too." The pips were like pins in her palm.

He settled back on the couch and she knew he'd resigned himself to hear her out. But she was tired of talking. Tired of people thinking she couldn't be right about things like this. She held up her fist and let the pips drop one by one to the floor.

"There's the bet," she said. "If they give him a room and a group of solicitous doctors who want to make him comfortable, I'll put them back on. If they try to steal him away to an undisclosed location they can keep their fucking pips and you can anticipate not seeing me again, because I will be taking him with me and hiding him away in some remote location that only my mother will know about."

He was coming off the couch, but she marched out of the room, down the corridor, away from him and his consternation and doubt.

The night shift was on. She arrived in sickbay to find it quiet and traveled the now-familiar route back to the captain's room. He was awake, she knew, and watched her come in with a little relief -- he'd been laying there feeling lonely, and her smile made him happy.

"I love you," she said, sitting down, leaning to kiss him.

"You have dubious taste in men," he murmured roughly. "Come back here and do it properly, no teasing."

Deanna sighed, and leaned in again to press her lips to his, and found herself welcoming his tongue. When she pulled away, she continued running her fingertips along his forehead, smiling and looking into his eyes. He was feeling much better than just hours ago. The ongoing nerve pain had abated, and he seemed to have more energy. His hand came up to her face and he let his knuckles glide down her face, ran a fingertip along her lips, then let his hand drop to his chest.

"What's wrong?" he asked finally.

"I told Will that if they don't take care of you, try to treat you like a test subject instead of a hero, I'm stealing you away to my island hideaway and never coming back."

He huffed, in lieu of actual laughter. "You have an island?"

"Mother gave it to me on my eighteenth birthday. Do you honestly think they'll do more than study you while they treat you?"

"I've been here awake most of the day, and the admiral hasn't tried to talk to me," he said. "Is the bridge screening my calls?"

"Not that I'm aware of," she said. "Computer, has anyone attempted to contact Captain Picard from Starfleet Command?"

"Negative," the computer replied pleasantly.

"Mm. Harder to treat someone like a test subject if you talk to them, isn't it? Is there still security in the corridor?" There had been several security officers that beamed aboard shortly after they'd arrived at McKinley Station.

"Yes," she admitted softly. She sat contemplating everything, going over it all in her head. "They couldn't just be giving you time to heal?"

"I've spoken to admirals from sickbay or while on medical leave before." He slowly sat up, and it came to her notice then that he had two hands again. She helped him by adjusting the bed to a more upright position.

"You have the new one," she exclaimed.

"Yes. It feels strange, but I'll get used to it, I suppose." He held it up, reached across to touch her cheek with it. "How does it feel?"

"Almost natural -- does it give you sensory feedback?" She meshed her fingers with the artificial ones, rubbing her thumb along his forefinger.

"It does. Though with a little less sensitivity than before."

Deanna took both his hands in hers, turning them palm up to compare them. They looked like a matched set. Beverly had done a good job. "Did you talk to Will at all about suspecting that they might take you into custody, instead of the medical center?"

"He doesn't want to believe they might suspect me. He thinks that Data and Beverly have provided adequate information to them."

She left the chair, to sit on the edge of the bed, closer to him. "Why do you believe they'll suspect you?"

Jean-Luc looked pained, but felt none, other than some emotional turmoil and reticence. "I'm afraid that you will as well, actually. When I tell you that I can still hear them."

That gave her pause. She looked him in the eyes, and focused. She could sense nothing of the Borg consciousness. That didn't mean, however, that he wasn't receiving communications from them. "Troi to Data," she said, startling him.

"Yes, Counselor?"

"Are you still monitoring for any subspace traffic on the frequencies used by the Borg?"

"Yes, we have been doing so continuously. We have not detected any signals on those frequencies since the destruction of the cube."

She leveled a scolding gaze at Jean-Luc. "Thank you, Data."

"How is Captain Picard?"

"He's showing improvement. You spoke to Geordi?"

"Yes, I intend to come see him in the morning."

"You can come any time," Jean-Luc said, sounding weary. "Hello, Data."

"It is good to hear your voice," Data exclaimed, sounding happier. "I will be there shortly. Data, out."

Jean-Luc sighed heavily, leaning back against the pillows, and she knew he was getting tired. "You're telling me that I'm not hearing the Borg, whispering in my head."

"Flashbacks, or the nanoprobes are talking to each other?"

He snorted. "Nanoprobes don't talk. I'm going to test a theory, now that you've disproved the previous one. Computer, open a channel to Admiral Hanson."

Deanna stood, but he caught her hand, appealed with his eyes, and so she nodded and stood there holding his fingers tightly.

"Captain," came the admiral's disembodied voice. "How are you, Jean-Luc?"

"I've had better days, frankly. But I'd say I'm recovering well enough."

A pause. "I was expecting to see you at Starfleet Medical in the morning. It's good to hear from you, though. I have to say I wasn't expecting to."

Jean-Luc glanced at her, a smirk playing across his lips. "The rumors of my death have been grossly exaggerated, JP."

"So is there something I can do for you?" That didn't sound like an old friend. There was a breathless officiousness to it that suggested anxiety.

"They've informed me that I'm to be moved, to Starfleet Medical. I wanted to request that I be allowed to remain in the care of my current medical staff."

A long pause. "I'd think you might want to access the specialists and the latest in medical technology."

"It's come to my attention that there's been a lot of chatter in the media. I'd rather not be the center of attention if it can be helped. And I'm told that if I continue to be stable I'll be allowed to return to my own bed -- forgive me for saying so, but you know how it is, we start to prefer the familiar. The counselor is demanding that I rest, it's hardly restful to be surrounded by people trying to interview me. And I have an excellent CMO, you know."

"Yes, well, quite so. I'll forward your request along -- would you mind if I came to see you, just the same?"

"Not too early. I'm afraid I'm prone to sleeping in, these days."

"Good night, Jean-Luc. See you in the morning."

The channel closed with a chirp. Deanna sat down in the chair. "He didn't like that you want to stay here."

He gazed down at her, contemplating. "So tell me about this island of yours?"

But she wasn't to have the opportunity -- a tentative 'hello' signaled another visitor. Deanna turned as Commander Shelby peered in.

"Come in, Commander," he said amiably. "Forgive me for not getting up to greet you."

"Not at all, sir," Shelby said, slowly approaching. She shot a look at Deanna and refocused on the captain. "I'm about to leave the ship."

"I thought you might be staying," Jean-Luc said. "Will needs a first officer, I believe."

That left her open-mouthed. Shelby glanced again at Deanna. "You aren't... returning," she said hesitantly, half asking.

"Do you see very many Borg drones in Starfleet?" he asked quietly. "Do you believe that anyone will look at me and see anything else other than a drone?"

"Sir, no one thinks you're a drone," Shelby exclaimed.

In answer, he raised his new hand to the side of his head, where there were still scars and the external ends of several implants that Beverly had postponed removal due to their impinging on his frontal lobe and cerebral cortex. "Thank you for your help, Commander. You've seen us through one of the more challenging confrontations that the _Enterprise_ has faced."

Shelby regarded him with confusion and some concern. "Sir...."

"If I were to show you a former drone and ask you to assess whether or not he could be trusted, what would you do?"

"I would probably say that -- but you're not just any drone, sir."

Jean-Luc glanced at Deanna with weary eyes. "What would you say, Counselor?"

"You aren't a Borg drone," Deanna said firmly. "You were. You are not. Somehow you broke the link with the Collective, and I sensed that clearly enough to know you aren't under their control."

"Would I rely on what you sense, in this case, if it had been anyone else who'd been assimilated?"

Deanna shook her head. Shelby was studying her critically as if seeing her for the first time.

"Was there something you wanted to tell me, Commander?" Jean-Luc asked.

"Yes. I wanted you to know that I advised Captain Riker to attempt to recover you, immediately after you were taken. Other members of the crew agreed with me."

He regarded her with one of his famous unreadable expressions, with which he had faced down aliens and hostile admirals alike. "And Captain Riker did as he knew I would expect him to do. He took care of the ship and the crew, and did everything in his power to stop the Borg."

Deanna knew that Will was now close enough to hear -- she knew he'd been approaching, for the past few minutes. She turned to watch her captain, and he continued to gaze at Shelby and wait.

"I am not the captain of the _Enterprise_ at the moment, Commander," he said at last. "You need not wait for my dismissal."

"It's been an honor, sir," Shelby replied faintly. She came to attention and saluted him; he responded with his bionic hand, thumping himself with his thumb. Shelby did an about face and left at a businesslike rapid pace.

"Beverly may have to adjust it a bit," Deanna said, watching him wiggle the thumb around experimentally. It didn't seem to want to clench, or move toward his hand.

"Sir?"

"Come in, Will," he said with a great sigh. "Make it short -- I think I'm about to be scolded for being awake too long."

Will's demeanor had shifted, for some reason. He looked like he was about to inform them of something dire. "I'm sorry to disturb you," he said quietly. "Admiral Hanson just contacted me. I have orders to deliver you to Starfleet Medical in the morning. Which I believed was going to happen anyway -- I don't understand why he felt he needed to make it an order."

"I do," Deanna exclaimed. "Jean-Luc contacted him expressing the desire to remain here in sickbay, under Dr. Crusher's care. Are you starting to see this yet? Admiral Hanson has known Jean-Luc since he was at the Academy -- he thinks he's still under the influence of the Borg!" She leaped up from the chair.

"Deanna," Jean-Luc said sharply. "Stop and tell me what you're doing, first."

"There are doctors on Betazed, there are other options, we can't stay here! I won't let them treat you like this!"

"Hang on," Will shouted, holding out both hands as if he needed to stop traffic. And then there was Beverly, scowling, her lab coat flying as she hurried in.

"What's going on in here? What are you shouting about?"

Jean-Luc held up his right hand to wave it in her general direction. "We're planning an insurrection, and my thumb is stuck."

Beverly planted her hands on her hips. "So, just another day, then," she intoned. "Does this have something to do with my getting a stern order from Admiral Hanson to turn you over to Dr. Ndarin or face charges?"

"Riker to senior staff," Will exclaimed, "report to sickbay."

Deanna sighed, as the anxiety levels of a number of people shot higher than they'd been since the Borg attacked. It felt like at least one senior officer had been in Ten Forward, there were so many terrified people. "I wish you could have worked something in about Captain Picard not being dead," she complained. "Beverly, can I have something for my headache? It's just gotten much worse."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> canon based:
> 
> *bionic arm -- Data ripped off the prosthetic arm in the episode, it had to be replaced with something and there is extant a note and drawings from production staff detailing Picard's arm replacement being bionic.
> 
> *JP Hanson was the admiral briefing Picard in BOBW pt 1. He is apparently very old since he knew Picard as a freshman at the Academy, per the episode. He also proclaims that Picard would never help the Borg and is lost to them forever.
> 
> *Later Borg episodes featured more jaded attitudes about drones -- Picard treated Hugh as a person, and got flack from Admiral Nechayev for it. I would suppose that the opposite would have been true -- Picard should have been proof that drones can be recovered. He would have been the one suspected of being compromised, back when they knew far less about Borg than they did by the time the 1701-D picked up Hugh.
> 
> *In a few episodes Picard becomes extremely pessimistic - ref: Final Mission where he crashes along with Wesley and is injured. Plot device borrowed.
> 
> Please keep your hands, feet, and expectations inside the roller coaster until it has come to a complete stop. Thank you for joining us here at Star Trek Fanfiction Amusement Park. We hope you have enjoyed your stay.


	17. Best of Both Worlds, Part Two

Deanna had never, in all her dreams of the adventures she would have in Starfleet, imagined herself running through the rain in the French countryside without a coat.

The lane was nearly an inch deep in water and the shoes she'd worn with the plain brown dress were soaked through. The rain was continuous and heavy, and made seeing very far ahead of her difficult in the dark of night. To avoid attracting attention they had beamed her to the intersection of the country lane where the driveway of the Picard family home branched off and wound up the hill past vineyards to the house. The idea was to avoid hysteria -- having a neighbor see the transporter effect, in a hamlet that was known for its rustic charm, after all the media coverage of Borg invasions, might trigger the local authorities contacting Starfleet.

She was gasping for breath and dripping by the time she reached the muddy yard, and paused for a moment on the doorstep to contemplate -- there weren't any buttons, panels or anything else to signal a visitor. Then she remembered holodeck simulations based in Earth history, and balled up her fist to hammer on the door. It was the middle of the night. She regretted waking everyone up, but they had to do this now.

The senior staff had discussed what to do, including her idea of taking the captain to another world, but the facts were plain -- the current climate of fear on Earth meant that the admirals were unlikely to back down. They were all former captains, of course, and disliked having no answers, plenty of suspicions, and feeling out of control. Rumors were flying, hysteria was rampant -- there were those who were openly theorizing about how many Borg cubes might be on their way to Earth and other Federation worlds as they were "sitting around twiddling our thumbs" -- not accurate, as Starfleet was in fact mobilizing as much as possible to protect the Federation. But the fleet had been gutted at Wolf -- and other ships were now heading out to gather the dead, gather what was left of the vessels destroyed by the Borg, acquire information if any was to be had from the wreckage.

In the end, Deanna had pushed for a revised version of her plan to remove the captain to a safe place to heal. The ship was now being torn apart to be refitted -- no way that taking the _Enterprise_ from McKinley Station would be possible, especially with the likelihood that such a move would be interpreted as proof that the Borg had somehow assimilated more than just Picard. Will had been fending off such assertions by continually pointing at Dr. Crusher's reports.

Deanna had suggested Jean-Luc's brother might be the best option. Something that Jean-Luc had scoffed at, but she insisted that if he had changed so much over the years, certainly his brother had done the same, and in the end Jean-Luc had wearily told her that if she could convince his brother to take them in, it would probably work -- the house would not be up to the standards of sickbay, but it would be private, and he had no doubt that Robert (he pronounced it 'ro-bear' rather than the way with which she was more familiar) would be happy to protect the property from intrusive people. There were no resorts, hotels or other public facilities that would do -- people talked, and there were far too many people talking already. Someone would report them if they were seen in public. Will's father was off planet on some job in another sector, Geordi's family were all in Starfleet and off planet, Beverly's wasn't from Earth at all, Data had no close associates to rely on, and Worf's parents were traveling off world on an extended vacation. Deanna's paternal relatives were unknown quantities, though she knew there were a few distant cousins left in Great Britain. So they were left with an estranged brother of Jean-Luc's as a possibility.

So here she was pounding on a wooden door, and then somewhere in the ivy overhead something gave way with a crack and cold water poured down over her head -- sputtering, coughing, she tried to shake off the icy water, and then the door opened and warm light spilled out.

"Marie," the man shouted, "we have a wet visitor! Good god, girl, what the hell are you out in this for? Mad thing, you have no coat!"

She found herself pulled into the hallway and he shut the door behind her. She blinked and glanced down at the lake forming at her feet. "I'm so sorry to be here so late, but it's an emergency," she said. "I'm Lieutenant-Commander Deanna Troi. I served aboard your brother's ship."

"I saw the news -- is he all right?" There was concern there, but also anger, disgruntled and deeply-held -- she understood volumes from that moment of sensing all that lay beneath Jean-Luc's assertions that his backwards family were so upset with his desire to be in Starfleet. It made clear to her how much she had to accomplish in just a few minutes, to get them to take them in.

"The news is only partly correct. There's a lot of fear -- terror, right now. Jean-Luc was assimilated by the Borg -- they kidnap other species and make them part of their collective by turning them into machines. He's had operations that removed the machinery but there are people at Starfleet who want to believe that he's still a Borg, and they want to analyze him, take him apart -- he needs a place to heal. I know that you haven't spoken to him in a very long time," she exclaimed, launching into it sooner than she'd wanted to, but the resistance had started in Robert and needed to be addressed. "But I'm his ship's counselor, and his friend. He was unable to speak to you directly but he knows that I am asking on his behalf, he knows you aren't likely to want to do this, but we have nowhere else to turn...."

A woman in a robe arrived as she was speaking, and with rising concern the woman exclaimed, "Robert, this is your brother she is talking about? Why would you not help your brother?"

"You will be saving your home, saving Earth," Deanna hurried to interject. "He can help -- he has more insight into the Borg than anyone. But he has to get better first, and they aren't going to trust him until they see that he's not one of them, which will require more time than they are willing to give. They were coming here to assimilate Earth -- I don't understand why, exactly, but they were here, in the system, on the verge of assimilating everyone here. And it would be naive to think there aren't more of them -- they will come again, and we're not ready for that. He saved us all for now. We need to give him a chance to save us again."

His resigned little smile was so heart-breakingly familiar that Deanna smiled fondly. "Bring him in, then," Robert grumbled.

"We have to beam him in. He's just been through emergency surgery." Technically. Beverly had declared an emergency surgery was needed to keep the powers that be from being able to steal him away -- she managed to have the captain in the operating theater when Hanson arrived with security. The official story was a sudden decompensation necessitating the removal of the brain implants, and she took her time and got all of them. The surgery had taken hours, and Dr. Selar had relieved her so she could take breaks. They had a window of four hours post-op before it was safe to move him -- or so she had insisted, with the entire medical staff backing her up. The implants had to come out anyway; he needed to recover completely. They couldn't leave any trace of hardware or the admirals would continue to point fingers.

So after Marie showed Deanna to a large bedroom on the ground floor, and turned down the covers, and showed her the attached bathroom -- this was clearly the master suite and Deanna wondered why it was not in use, but a glance at Robert studying a portrait of a couple on the wall while he felt the sorts of emotions that typically went with reminiscing and a long-ago-grieved loss, and she thought she understood. This was the room his parents had used. Probably now a guest room, but still old feelings lingered.

Deanna moved them away to stand near the door, and stood in the open area between the bed and the bathroom door, then tapped her badge. Fortunate those things were waterproof. "Troi to Riker."

"Deanna," came the relieved response. He'd probably been fending off Hanson for eight hours by this point, as diplomatically as he could. "Everything all right?"

"We're ready to bring him down. Everything's going well, at this end. Although we might have checked the weather first. You can use my current coordinates, we're inside and out of the rain."

"Acknowledged. Data's bringing him down now."

She moved quickly aside, and the transporter's glow filled the room, leaving Data and Beverly standing in the center of the area rug. Data had the captain in his arms, bundled up in a blanket; a dressing covered his head and his skin had the same pallor as before.

Beverly looked around at the warm room full of wooden furnishings and Deanna knew the displeasure was about the lack of sterility and control of the environment, but the doctor flashed a smile at Mr. and Mrs. Picard and directed Data to place her patient in the bed. She put the two large cases down and knelt to open one. "I need to show you how everything should go," she said. "You need to give all the injections in order."

"This is Dr. Crusher," Deanna said, mindful of how shocking this situation was to the Picards. "And Data -- he's one of your brother's very good friends, our second officer."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Picard," Data exclaimed at once. As usual, he was not entirely attuned to the emotional atmosphere. He came from the bed with an extended hand, and Robert shook it gingerly. "Thank you very much for helping Captain Picard."

"Data, would you get the rest of it set up?" Beverly asked. Another case had materialized behind them. Data turned to get it, and left the room, excusing himself.

"Papa," came a distant childish call. Robert glanced at Marie and left the room. Marie came forward as Beverly went through the first case with Deanna, studying her unconscious brother-in-law and then the contents of the cases.

"Everything is clearly labeled, I made sure of it," Beverly said at last. "You need to contact me at the first sign of infection or if he's very disoriented for too long."

"Surely he should be in a hospital," Marie said softly.

They looked up at her solemnly. Deanna stood and touched Marie's sleeve. "He would be given a retinal scan and they would contact Starfleet immediately. We might, later, if the current state of high alert subsides and everything calms down. But we can't risk that right now."

"You're drenched -- I keep telling Robert that gutter needs to be fixed. Let me get you some dry clothing."

"Thank you," Deanna said with a smile. She turned to Beverly as her hostess left the room. "You need to take my badge with you, Beverly."

"Deanna," Beverly scolded, closing the second case. "The countermeasures that Data is setting up -- "

"I don't trust Starfleet right now. Please." She pulled it from her soaked dress and held it out. "Please. I'll get in touch from a terminal in the village as we discussed, when he's awake."

Beverly took it from her. "You look like a drowned rat, you know."

"I'll take a shower once we're all done. I'm freezing." She hugged herself and looked at Jean-Luc, then, and sighed. "It's going to be a long wait, isn't it?"

"At least you won't have to shout at admirals the whole time. Will's a champ, taking the punches right and left. But he learned from the best." Beverly sighed, running her fingers along her hair and tucking it behind her ears. "He should be out for another few hours. I gave him more than I normally would, to be sure he was slow to recover, give us the time. It'll make him groggy and cranky. You may want to give him one of your magic massages before he wakes so he isn't stiff head to toe. I took advantage of the tranquilizer to give him a long run through the deep tissue regenerator."

"What's Will going to tell the admiral when they show up in an hour and he's missing?"

"No idea, but I'm looking forward to hearing it. It'll probably be some version of the truth. But when all this blows over, and Jean-Luc is back, they'll come to their senses and thank us."

Marie returned then with an armful of clothing, including a robe and a few towels, and then Data came in almost as wet as Deanna. "I have placed the dampeners and sensors around the house, concealed in the greenery. Here is the padd you will use to monitor." He held it out and Deanna took it, as well as a tiny device Data pressed into her palm. "Here is a communicator that I fashioned from non-Starfleet parts -- you will be able to use it to contact me in an emergency, I have another like it and they are designed only to connect to each other."

"Oh, Data," Deanna exclaimed, coming to throw her arms around him. "I love you."

He returned her embrace with the awkward pat on the back he usually added. "I believe that I am fond of you as well, Deanna." He stepped over to the middle of the rug, and Beverly pushed aside her cases and joined him. "Data to O'Brien -- energize."

When they were gone, Deanna felt suddenly bereft. Her friends were all gone and she was cut off from all the resources to which she had been accustomed. At this point, even contacting her mother was impossible -- she'd send a brief recorded message to inform Lwaxana that she would be unable to talk for an extended period, and that probably would tip anyone off that she had vanished in the same way the captain had, and was likely with him.

"What an odd man," Marie muttered. Deanna realized she meant Data.

"Data is an android, actually, an artificial life form."

"Really," Marie exclaimed in wonder. "But... why are they afraid of the Borg machines, if they have such things already?"

Deanna sighed and thought about Data's fight for recognition as a sentient being. "It's a long story. I should have plenty of time to tell you, as much as I can without breaking confidences or breaching Starfleet security. But it's very late, and we should all get some rest."

"There's another guest room just next to this one," Marie said.

"I'm staying here with him." Deanna smiled at her warmly. "I need to be here when he wakes. I'm also more than a friend, and he's used to having me with him."

Marie smiled and nodded. "I thought you might be. Breakfast is usually around seven, before René goes to school. I'll see you then." She placed the clothing and towels on the large trunk at the end of the bed, and closed the door on her way out.

 

\------------------

 

The soft beeping of her alarm woke her for the second time. Deanna sallied forth from the warm, heavy covers into the relative chill of the room, to get the next hypo for him. Jean-Luc lay there as he had since Data put him there, on his back and no sign of waking. She applied the next dose of the cocktail of chemicals that Beverly had titrated into doses to be delivered every four hours; not too much that the body couldn't handle the toxic load of the poisonous chemistry, but enough to erode the minute infrastructure of the nanoprobes, dissolve them into constituent components which were then trapped by the rest of the chemicals and bound with them, to be gradually excreted by the body's natural processes with other wastes. Three days of doses -- with the rest of the medications she was supposed to administer on top of this one, she would be getting precious little sleep.

Whatever it took, that was what had to happen.

She followed the medication with another hypo, this time an antiobiotic to prevent infection, and then took another shower. She dressed in one of the outfits Marie had left -- a dark brown dress that was thick and warm, that wouldn't give away that she wore nothing under it. She'd have to see if shopping with Marie might be possible, within the constraints of the schedule Jean-Luc's care had her on. Her shoes, sitting next to the heater vent, were dry. The only thing she could do about her hair was a rough braid. She debated checking his head, but left the dressing in place and went down the hall toward the front of the house.

They were in a dining room, off to the left of the hall she had come in from, and she hesitated -- Robert was smiling at a boy, and Marie pouring him coffee. It was a warm and happy scene. She smiled when Marie noticed her and waved her in, and let herself be seated and welcomed to the breakfast table. Marie placed a plate in front of her and she felt right at home -- warm bread, fruit, a cup of yogurt, and strong coffee. What she had often eaten with Jean-Luc in the mornings -- she picked up the mug with a smile.

"This is René, our son," Robert said, indicating the boy directly across the table from her. "He's ten years old next month. This is our guest, Deanna."

"She's your uncle's girlfriend," Marie added, touching her son's shoulder and placing a second pastry on his plate.

Robert stopped chewing and gave her a very subdued version of Jean-Luc's glare. "You said officer."

"Both," she said, not wanting to talk at length in front of a boy. "It's nice to meet you, René."

"It's very nice to meet you," René exclaimed excitedly. "You mean my uncle Jean-Luc?"

"No, she means your other uncle," Robert said, giving him the sarcastic, mischievous smile she often saw -- how similar the brothers were.

"Is he here? Is he coming to breakfast?"

"He's not feeling very well, no, he's still in bed." Deanna gave him a sad smile. "But I hope he'll be able to meet you soon. Do you like sports? I think I saw some cleats in the hall that are your size."

"I play football," he announced gleefully. "Do you like football?"

"I've never had the chance to see it, or play it."

At that point René noticed her eyes and almost dropped his cup, leaning forward to look more closely. "You have pretty eyes!"

"They are Betazoid eyes," she replied with a soft smile. "I'm from the planet Betazed."

Robert turned to look as well, and some of the wariness was back. "That would be... that means you are a telepath?"

"No, not me -- some of us are not. My father was human. From Scotland, actually."

"I see," Robert said, subsiding a little. "You should visit Scotland -- although it rains there quite a lot, and you didn't look happy about the rain."

"She wasn't happy about your ability to repair the gutter," Marie chided. "I keep telling you, Robert." She returned to the other end of the table and started to eat her own breakfast.

"Hmph."

Breakfast was entertaining, and then Robert cut off the chatter about things Deanna should see and ordered René upstairs to get dressed for school. Deanna took the opportunity to lean forward and give Robert a serious look. It got Marie's attention as well.

"There will probably be a visit from Starfleet security shortly, as you are his last known immediate family," she said. "I think because the admiral at the head of this effort knew Jean-Luc so well, that he will assume that he would not come here due to your being estranged from each other for so long. I think they will do a very brief search and leave, if everything is handled casually. We can't hide his life sign from them so we need a different identity for him."

"Our cousin Javier, perhaps," Robert said.

"That was what we thought -- they bear a passing resemblance, from the bio we reviewed. And he has a wife. Do they visit you often?"

"Not often, but we are acquainted." Robert smiled at his wife. "She is not Helena, at all."

"I don't believe they will give it any further consideration if we give them no reason to suspect," Deanna said. "They're on high alert about the Borg. They don't have time to harass you. I have some wigs and can make it work, if you agree to be as Jean-Luc described you to the admiral back when he was a freshman at the Academy, when he was probably very angry and vocal about your arrogance and narrow-mindedness."

Robert had the mercenary grin that she'd hoped for, the same one Jean-Luc would have in the middle of a caper. "Oh, I do believe I can make that work. They will beam down in the yard, yes?"

"Very likely. Data put sensors around the house that will detect the presence of Starfleet technology. I will have a little warning, but we will have to be ready when it goes off."

Robert's head turned at the sound of René's shoes on the stairs at the far end of the hall. "I will be back from walking him to school shortly. And I will tell René that if he speaks of our guests at all he cannot mention their names or ranks, or anything other than we have cousins in town to see us. It will rain on his parade but he is a good boy, I'll tell him his uncle doesn't want a lot of attention from anyone."

"Thank you." Deanna was touched by the effort Robert was making -- it told her she was correct about there being a chance of reconciling the brothers.

After Robert left with René, Marie cleared the table and brought back two cups of tea to sit closer and smile at Deanna across a corner of the table as if they were conspiring.

"You must tell me about Jean-Luc," she said, sipping her chamomile. "Robert has been nothing but a grump about him."

"They're actually very much alike, I think, but Jean-Luc has a nicer smile."

Marie laughed at her. "Of course he has. You have been together for a while?"

"A little while, yes. It's very difficult when there's so much going on, so many unpredictable things happen in space." She sensed then that Jean-Luc was semi-conscious, and her head turned. Marie was puzzled; Deanna smiled reassuringly and touched her arm. "I think I heard something -- he may be waking up. I should check, he'll be out of sorts as usual."

"Does he get hurt like this a lot?" Marie asked, following her out and down the hall.

"Starfleet is not a safe job." Deanna went in the room and found him starting to thrash, weakly, in the covers. She went immediately to pull back the top layers and touch his face. "Jean-Luc, it's okay. You're all right. Are you hungry?"

"I -- " He saw Marie, and went silent, despite urgently needing to urinate. Deanna started to peel away the rest of the covers.

"Can you excuse us for a minute?"

"Certainly, I'll go put on some water for more tea," Marie said.

"Earl Grey for him, if you have any," Deanna said. She finished unwrapping him from the sickbay blanket and found him in shorts. With Marie gone, he let her help him up -- his gross motor skills were as discombobulated as she expected they would be, and he stumbled as she supported him into the bathroom.

When she went back in, he was more awake, less groggy, fighting his battle with the remnants of heavy sedation and fumbling at the faucet. He hadn't been able to bend to pull his shorts off his ankles, telling her some of the stiffness had returned. She pulled up his shorts for him and turned on the water spigots, finding a balance between hot and cold, and helped him wash his hands, using the opportunity to lean and take some of his weight.

"I find that I have severely underestimated your diplomatic acumen," he said. "How the hell did you talk Robert into this?"

"It wasn't hard to do. I know how to talk you into anything." She chuckled at his disgruntlement at that. "He's a sweet man. That was his wife, Marie, who would have talked him into it if I failed -- I had breakfast with your nephew who's very excited to see us. Would you like to put on clothes and move into the front of the house?"

"I feel like Klingons fought and lost several battles in my head." She returned him to the bed, left him sitting there and fetched one of the hypos from the case -- he stared at the cases. "You brought half of sickbay."

"I need half of sickbay. Anti-nanoprobe medication, antibiotics, painkillers and things that keep your bodily functions in order while the rest of it does its work. Vitamins, and funnily enough, she put a couple of number nine in the bottom." Which was shorthand for Love Potion Number Nine, which he refused to call it. She pressed the analgesic to his neck. "She's making your favorite tea."

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"So far as I know, Will has broken the news to the admiral. He's feeling tired and frustrated, because the admiral is likely screaming about it and starting the search. We expect someone will show up here, because it's in your records that you have a brother."

"And how are you going to get around that?"

Deanna dropped the used hypo in the bottom of the case and went to choose one of the shirts Marie had provided for him. A green knit, that looked comfortable and warm. "We're going to disguise you."

"Deanna, seriously," he scoffed.

She put the shirt on him carefully and then rummaged in the second case. "This is Javier, and this is Helena," she said, a blond wig on one hand and a black one on the other. "Your cousin Javier is visiting, as he sometimes does. His wife Helena has contact lenses to make her eyes blue. Will gave them a call this morning on a public terminal to bring them in the loop, if security gets too suspicious, so if they follow up Javier can claim to have just got home from LaBarre." If all went to schedule, anyway.

"Devious woman." He sighed, and she knew he felt terrible -- his body felt heavy and his head still had a slight ache around the temples despite the medication. "I don't know if I'll be up to impersonating anyone."

"You don't have to do much. Smile, glare, let your hysterical wife shriek at the security officers about privacy and jackbooted tyrants. If she has to -- Robert will do most of the heavy lifting."

He let her finish dressing him, remove the post-surgical dressing to apply a much thinner and comfortable one that would protect what was left of his raw reddened scar, and fit him with the wig. She half-carried him to the room that Marie called the parlor, settle him on the couch, and then he dozed some of the time as they chatted and Marie got to know her brother-in-law a little. Deanna returned to clean up the bedroom and make the bed, making sure all her medical supplies were buried in the closet.

By the time the padd Deanna was carrying around started to flash and beep, she had settled her own anxiety about it. It was after all just another mission, where the chances of success were slim to none. Not telling everyone the very real risk that security would be more thorough was a huge gamble. She wanted them to be relaxed and knew that would be easier for them if she said nothing. Hopefully, they would have some very young, easily intimidated searchers.

Silencing the alarm and turning off the padd, she stashed it under the ornate sofa and shook Jean-Luc's shoulder gently to wake him from the latest catnap. He let her apply the last touch, the thin mustache that matched the short mop of a wig that almost looked like real hair, and Marie folded the blanket they'd draped over him then laid it over the back of the sofa as if it belonged there. Deanna gave him the stimulant and tossed the hypo down with the padd.

And then Robert started bellowing, outside the window in the front yard. Jean-Luc actually started to grin, as his brother really got going.

"What do you mean, is my brother here? That asshole couldn't wait to leave -- why the hell would that arrogant jackass darken my door now? Don't you have better things to do than harass innocent citizens who have nothing to do with you Starfleet busybodies and all that meddling you do? I'm not surprised you have aliens trying to kill us all, they're probably sick of you spying on their business!"

A pounding on the door and Marie shot them a look and hurried to answer.

Deanna had her tea in hand, sipping daintily with an extended pinky, when the security officer came in from the hall. She gave him the dismissive look of momentary appraisal, a princess in her castle. The young lieutenant's demeanor didn't change, but there was a shift from anxious yet resolute, to wavering. 

"This is my husband's cousin, Javier, and his wife Helena, Lieutenant," Marie said breezily. She was actually having a little fun with this, and Deanna had to swallow a little anxiety of her own at the possibility of her overplaying the role. 

"Is there something the matter? Why is Robert so upset?" Deanna asked casually, forcing her accent toward British. It was a horrible attempt, but it wasn't her usual, so it would work.

"We're looking for Captain Jean-Luc Picard. This is his brother's home," the officer said sternly. "Do you have any information as to his whereabouts?"

Deanna frowned, glanced at 'Javier' -- he gestured dismissively and frowned. "I don't believe I've ever met Robert's brother," she said, looked back at the lieutenant as she took another sip of tea.

"Well, I don't really know him either, I met Robert long after his brother left. Robert doesn't talk about him at all. I rather think he doesn't like Jean-Luc, and the feeling is mutual from what little Robert has said, so I'm not sure why he would come here," Marie said mildly.

The officer glanced around at the room, and turned to Marie. "May we search the rest of the house, ma'am?"

Marie shrugged. "If you feel it's necessary. But don't track mud on my carpets, we've only just had them cleaned." She picked up the teapot from the tray on the low table in front of them. "I'm so sorry about the interruption, I'll just get us some more tea -- Helena, would you like some more of the biscuits?"

"I would, thank you." Deanna turned and put a hand on Jean-Luc's arm. "You didn't tell me you were _that_ Jean-Luc Picard's cousin! Wasn't there something about him just in the news?"

Jean-Luc snorted and waved his hand dismissively. "Arrogant ass, that one," he growled, in a lower register and with a thick accent of some kind. The officer looked back at them with mild interest as he wandered from the room, following Marie.

Deanna waited, holding Jean-Luc's hand between them and listening to the boots clomping down the hall, up the stairs, down the upstairs hall and back, down the stairs, and out the front door, which closed behind him. Outside, they heard Robert's voice again, growing louder -- he'd probably been walking the other officers around the outbuildings and the vineyard. It hadn't taken very long. That had to mean the search had been as perfunctory as she'd hoped. The dampeners had clearly done their job of concealing the sensors from tricorder sweeps.

"You young fellows need to find something better to do than waste my time, I have grapes that need tending, get a real job," Robert sniped, coming through loud and clear as the front door swung open as he spoke. He clomped back inside and came into the parlor. Deanna pulled aside the curtain behind her and watched the three officers in goldenrod and black dematerialize. She scanned quickly and didn't sense anyone other than those already accounted for -- no officers left behind to surprise them. Yanking off the blond wig, she started to laugh, jumped up and threw her arms around Robert's neck.

He was still stiff with shock when she stood back, but smiling. "Thank you," she exclaimed, wiping away a few tears. "You were perfect."

"You pulled it off," Jean-Luc said, some of the stunned amazement evident in his voice. He'd clearly believed they would fail. He peeled off the mustache. "How the hell are you not doing intelligence work? Or acting?"

Deanna didn't want to disillusion their hosts, so deflected, dropping to a knee to look him over. "It's time for another dose of something, overdue by a bit -- and that stimulant is already wearing off. Too much excitement. I'm going to get you another analgesic as well, have some more tea and I'll be right back."

Marie met her in the hall and followed her back to the bedroom, her happiness and relief evident, but she was also concerned. "You weren't expecting it to go that well, cherie," she murmured as Deanna pulled a case out of the closet.

"No. But we did it, and now we can help Jean-Luc back to himself," she said, selecting three hypos from her extensive collection. "The worst of it is over, for now."

When they rejoined the men, Robert was seated in a wingback chair across the tea table, and Jean-Luc was more or less calm. Part of that was how tired he was, Deanna knew. Robert watched her return to sit with Jean-Luc on the couch and administer one dose after the other. Jean-Luc gazed into her eyes, and she realized she still wore the blue contacts. 

"I should probably take the contacts out before they damage my eyes. They aren't intended for extended use."

He smiled at her, and for the first time since Risa she saw him completely at ease -- partly because of the medications, she thought, but the usual general state of alertness she associated with Captain Picard wasn't there, and it usually was, even when he was on medical leave. "Thank you, for saving my life," he said quietly.

She nodded, giving him a warm smile, and couldn't resist it. Robert was hovering somewhere between staying and going, anxious but curious. It was a perfect opportunity.

"You're welcome. I would have done all this even if you weren't nearly as handsome as your brother, you know."

Jean-Luc grinned at it, and Robert went straight to laughter, while Marie stood watching them happily. "Lunch," she announced over her husband's guffaws. That was clearly a cue -- Robert followed his wife amiably toward the kitchen, announcing to her that there were fresh ripe tomatoes in the garden, if she wanted him to get any.

"Come here," Jean-Luc said softly. Deanna moved closer, beneath the arm he put over her shoulders, and rested with him. "Thank you for bringing me home."

"I told you so," she murmured, wondering if he would remember what she had told him so long ago in counseling when she had suggested reconciliation with his brother and he had scoffed at it. He did, from the helpless, weary amusement he felt in response.

"Counselor Asshole," he muttered, kissing her forehead. "But I love you anyway."


	18. Best of Both Worlds, Part Three

Jean-Luc sighed and enjoyed the afternoon sun on his face, as he sat on the bench in the front yard. The wine was very good, and the day quite peaceful; there were a few cumulus drifting by. From the sounds of things Deanna was winning some game with René in the side yard. He had a habit of moaning while he laughed about it when he lost.

Robert came back around the house with another bottle of the Sangiovese and crossed the yard, settling on the bench heavily and gesturing with the bottle -- Jean-Luc held up his glass for a refill. Robert eyed him shrewdly. "You're going back, aren't you?"

"I have to go. I don't have to stay."

Robert smiled at that. "Good. Good." He leaned to retrieve his own glass, standing at the side of the bench, and filled it. "We'll have the wedding in the garden."

"Oh, well, so nice to have you around to tell me what to do," Jean-Luc said, turning his head toward his brother with a little less than his usual control -- a bottle of wine down, another in progress. They'd be singing soon.

Robert gave him a scandalized look that said Deanna was part of the family whether Jean-Luc stuck around or not. "You actually want to question whether that girl is worth committing to?"

"I'd suppose the question would be the other way around."

"Oh, balderdash -- you stupid idiot," Robert spat, taking a mouthful of wine.

It was strange how the usual narratives with Robert didn't have teeth any more. "You never questioned Marie's sanity?"

Robert made a belly laugh sound like a casual affair, he did it so often. "Every fecking day of my life. What you don't question are the good things life gives you. You keep them. Not enough good things to go around."

"My brother, the philosopher."

Robert chortled at it. "Dispensing advice that's worth every credit you paid."

"I've never had any interest in having children. I know that she probably does."

Robert sat up and leaned over to dramatically whisper, "That's why you need to ask her."

Jean-Luc sighed, nodding, and glanced up at the house. "I know."

"You're not going to leave her, and if she wants children you'll have them. You think I wanted children?"

They looked at each other, and Jean-Luc's eyebrow went up.

"You love your son," he said at last.

Robert bounced a finger off Jean-Luc's chest. "So do you. Idiot."

They started to laugh together, and touched glasses, drank, and turned as one as Deanna came around the corner of the house. She wore one of the dresses she'd bought in the village, a brilliant pink that showed off her legs, and smiled at them as she went to the front door and entered the house.

"We can put in a word, get you a good deal on the house at the end of the lane," Robert said. "Marie's going to call you night and day until you do. You let her learn to love her -- should have brought one of your more obnoxious alien friends, if you didn't want that to happen."

"I don't know if you noticed, but I haven't been able to give her an order since I got here. She's on a trajectory with the rest of my officers with this one."

Robert thumped him on the arm. "You're as healthy as I am. You're still here."

"The real issue at this point is what's been going on at Command. I think she's waiting for a signal. Since the Borg haven't been in the news in a few weeks, I might assume that the panic is gone, but Starfleet Command -- well."

"What if you go back and they arrest you just the same, for abandoning your post?"

Jean-Luc drank his wine, stared at the clouds -- one of them almost looked like a shuttlecraft.

"She apologized to us, you know," Robert said, stretching out and crossing his ankles. "For endangering us, bringing you here. For risking our arrest."

"I wasn't quite myself at the time, or I would have objected. And I don't think I believed she would be able to pull it off. I'm sorry, Robert."

"You think I'm stupid -- I knew what we were doing. You're my brother -- "

"Idiot," Jean-Luc said in stereo with him. He smiled and closed his eyes, balancing his head on the back of the bench, stretching out his legs as Robert had done. He sniffed, realizing. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too -- usually when I'm drunk."

They laughed for a bit, together. "Idiot," Jean-Luc replied.

Robert hummed a little, and then they were singing quietly, out of tune, as always. More wine was poured, more singing done.

Maybe tomorrow, he would go.

 

\------------

Jean-Luc thought about the last two hypos, now in the drawer of the night stand, when he woke the next morning. Deanna mumbled in her sleep from her side of the bed. It was four thirty according to the clock, far earlier than anyone else in the house would be up and about.

For seven weeks, they had been in a world he hadn't spent time in since he was a boy. It felt like the longest holodeck fantasy he'd ever been in. For a while, he'd spent most of the day in a bit of a haze, or asleep -- the first three days had been the hardest. The chelation process had been hard on his body, and coming on the heels of brain surgery as it had, he'd suffered more than usual. Deanna had been with him within seconds of his awakening, each time, to reassure him and give him whatever he needed. She'd had him on a strict no-activity convalescence until he actually started to feel normal again, instead of letting him insist he could walk around when he started to feel restless but still felt like hell on toast.

It was idyllic, here. He'd started to help Robert, first with more sedentary tasks, roaming the vineyard and the winery as he felt better. Things he had found tedious as a young man were not, now, and the tension with Robert had eased as he allowed himself to immerse himself in life with his family. The healthier he became, the less Deanna hovered; she spent time with his sister and nephew, helping him with his homework and involving herself in the day to day upkeep of the house and in cooking. And then, after everyone went to their rooms, she joined him in the bed and made him very happy. Massages, at first, each night before they went to sleep. Then a massage and some kissing, progressing after six weeks to sex -- she was hesitant. Not quite back to normal, and he understood. She didn't want setbacks, didn't want him to hurt himself.

He hadn't talked to her about the future. Robert was right, but he was also wrong. There were considerations -- her career, whatever was left of his career. Whether both of them would be incarcerated, at some point.

Jean-Luc sighed. A moan answered him, and then her fingers found him, and the rest of her followed, creeping over to cling to him.

He smiled, reached over for the handle of the drawer. A quick fumble of the fingers, and he brought the hypo back under the covers, slipped it into her hand. She hummed speculatively, and pressed the business end of the hypo against his chest, then tossed it off to the floor and moved to sit astride him, her hair a dark cloud in silhouette -- the only light in the room was a little moonlight coming in the window to the right of the bed. He thought she might say something, but she came down for a kiss.

There must be a better name for what she could do -- French kissing didn't cover it. She seemed to have it in her head that she could make him come just using her mouth on his mouth. Then again....

He kept his hands on her thighs for a bit, then gave in and crept them up to her waist, and fondled her left breast, caressing the nipple. Her hips moved. It left a wet slick up his thigh, which was a matter of interest -- he was semi-hard before the shot, harder now with the kissing and her weight on him, and all the medication would do now would be to keep him that way for a while. He wouldn't go to nothing abruptly before the foreplay progressed to actual penetration. So he didn't feel rushed, as he moved to find her clitoris with his thumb. She straightened and a sigh of pleasure escaped her, as she moved with him, letting him work with his fingers until she came, throwing her head back and stifling what he knew would have been a long, low moan.

He moved on impulse and dragged her down -- she was pliable and happy to indulge him, bringing her knees up and letting him, encouraging him, to make the bed shake. He had made love to her, been slow and gentle, been playful -- this was the first time he'd gone straight to rough and sloppy and gradually harder, with very little foreplay. But she didn't seem to mind it.

She loved it. She practically fought back, thrusting up to meet him, and it was becoming difficult to stay inside her. Grabbing her hips, he drove into her and felt it start. It almost hurt, when he came, stiffening and shaking and falling against her. It was hard to move, after, and he felt her reaching, dragging the sheet over them while she held him there with her face in the crook of his neck.

Her fingers brushed down the back of his head, his neck, and repeated the gesture while his skin cooled.

"I don't know what's going to happen," he whispered, when he could breathe again.

Her lips brushed his neck in a kiss, and he felt them move into a smile. "I do," she said, with complete confidence.

"Round two?"

She wriggled along the length of his body, and said, very, very softly, "Make it so."

He started to laugh, before he decided it wasn't funny, and kept laughing as he started to thrust again.

When they woke later, Jean-Luc maintained the belief that they had kept the noise down, until he met Robert in the hall. His brother scowled as he hadn't done in weeks, but then Jean-Luc saw the twitch of his lips. "You need to get your own house," he intoned. The twitch turned into a grin. Robert patted his chest and moved onward toward the dining room.

"Merdé," Jean-Luc muttered, following him in.

\---------------

 "Let's go for a walk," he said, touching Deanna's shoulder. She was sitting in the dining room having tea with Marie -- from the twinkle in his sister-in-law's eye, she was hoping this meant something was about to happen, perhaps an engagement party. Marie could be subtle about hinting, but she hadn't been.

Deanna stood and went with him. She took one of Marie's broad-brimmed hats from the row of pegs in the hall, one with a white sash around it that matched the white house dress she wore, and stepped into shoes before they went out the front door. In the yard, he looked up at the blue sky and the white clouds, and spent a moment thinking about how it might be.

"You've been thinking a lot and talking very little about it," Deanna said, as he wandered with her down the lane. The roses were past their prime and losing petals, he noticed. There was a bush planted at the end of each row of grapevines. He found one that was mostly intact and picked it for her, tucking it into her hair over her left ear.

"I went to Starfleet Command yesterday after you went to Paris with Marie," he said.

She stopped in the middle of the lane. Hands at her sides, eyes full of surprise, then regret.

"You didn't tell me that things had changed, the week after we disappeared," he went on. "You didn't tell me that because I was still waking up at night feeling terrified, and I was still miserable and exhausted, and sleeping half the day. You didn't tell me that we could have gone back because you wanted me to recover fully. And then, I think, you may not have said anything for the past few weeks because you've been trying to get past the guilt of not telling me sooner, or it may have been because you've been very happy here."

The ends of her mouth flicked up into a sad smile. "You've been happy. I love seeing you happy, Jean-Luc. I love seeing you laugh and play your cranky games with your brother. As far as anyone's concerned you're on medical leave, with good reason. I'm sorry that I didn't say anything. You're right, that I've been trying to work out how to tell you. But there's been no need to -- we're letting the media forget about you, and we're fine."

"I think you also know how I enjoy hearing you laugh. Of course I'm happy." He gestured at the line of trees along one side of the road. "Look where we are. This is what I left home to protect. You're here, and I'm finally getting along with my brother."

"And you've finally managed a consistent supply of good wine."

"Oh, yes. Although I may want to stop enjoying that so often." He started to roll up his sleeves. The sun felt warm. "This has been one of the most educational periods of my life. I'd been musing sometimes over the past few weeks on how I've ended up with a ship and crew that became family. The other vessels I've been on weren't like that. Close friends, yes. But this has been different. And it came to me a few days ago, that all the captains I've spoken to over the years have told me similar things about how the commanding officer creates his own little world, aboard his ship. You've spoken about morale and how my demeanor can have an effect. We talked at length, remember, about how Will refused to leave to take his own ship -- when I went to Command I spoke to JP directly, and he told me a lot of things, apologized to me, but he also told me that Will stonewalled him in this determined way for hours, calmly, and didn't flinch when he was threatened with disciplinary action."

Deanna nodded. Not a surprise to her. She had done the same -- all of them had.

"I told JP that I wasn't going back to ship duty," he said. Her startled blink and subsequent pained look were inevitable. "If I was creating what I wanted aboard the _Enterprise_ , I clearly don't need to be on a ship any longer. I started to think about going back out there to confront the Borg, and what would happen if I were taken by them again -- and there's the reaction in your face, that tells me I'm correct. It was a horrible trauma for me, but it was worse for you. It's been traumatic for you all along, because you are surrounded by all the pain of people that you made yourself responsible for, you took on the mental health of others and you've continued with the same determination that I've had all this time. And then we happened, and that multiplied your pain -- I saw how much it was hurting you, when I woke up from nightmares of the Borg, and you were trying to reassure me while you were crying yourself. I don't want to do that to you again, Deanna."

"But you're our captain," she said, the tears streaking her cheeks.

"I can't be, any more," he said gently. "I think I started to know that when Will started to talk to people about how to work around us. Can you tell me why he risked people's lives to recover me from the Borg?"

She thought about that with furrowed brow. Finally, she shook her head. "He's not spoken to me about that. But there really wasn't any chance to."

"Shelby came to me to let me know she advocated for coming to get me, immediately. I know from her manner that had more to do with her respect for Captain Picard, than any sense of relationship with me. Will hesitated. But he came. I think he overrode his better judgment out of loyalty. And then he helped you steal me away to LaBarre, to save me. Something that JP eventually thanked him for, by the way."

"But -- " She floundered in silence for another few minutes, hugging herself.

"You and I have discussed motivations and command, and nearly everything else about the psychology of being an officer. Yet you're having difficulty seeing what motivated an officer you know very, very well. JP recommended that the senior officers of the _Enterprise_ be reassigned. I had to agree with him."

She turned away, hand over her mouth.

"You see, how it is. How attached we are, to each other."

"It all ended well," she exclaimed. "We saved the Earth. We saved you, so we could defeat them."

"You didn't know that I would be able to remember anything about the Borg," he said, coming to put his hands on her shoulders. "You didn't know I would survive the brain surgery. You didn't know that disconnecting me from the Collective would be possible. You were taking shots in the dark to keep me safe, believing that you had professional motivations."

"But it happens like that at times. You've done it yourself -- made decisions that might work, taken risks that paid off."

"Being a starship captain involves a lot of hard work, a lot of self awareness, a lot of intelligence and the rest is all luck -- sheer good fortune, rolling the dice repeatedly until you get snake eyes. Some of us make it to flag rank, some retire and wither away, a lot of us die in the traces -- you don't predict that. Yes, it paid off. This time. But I started to break my own rules, which were based in a great deal of thought, experience, and observation of the mistakes of others. And I think you all followed along with that because you didn't want to hurt me."

Deanna leaned back against him, and he put his arms around her. The breeze had come up and she'd come out in short sleeves without a coat. "So what do you want to do now?" She sounded a little wistful.

"That depends upon you. My choice has been made. I have been given a position in strategic operations, and that leaves me to set up housekeeping anywhere on Earth, though it probably would be most sane to be in the same time zone as Starfleet Command. I can hope that you'll stay, but I know that asking you to give up ship duty to do that is perhaps -- "

She turned in his arms and clung to him. For a few moments he was afraid, but held her and waited.

"I can't imagine being without you," she murmured against his shirt. Robert's shirt, really.

Jean-Luc smiled, and glanced up at the sky, then sighed. "Transcendent."

"Marie will be happy." Deanna stepped away, took his hand, and they continued walking down the lane.

"She's planning a wedding. Last night she showed me their wedding pictures."

"Are you opposed to that?"

"I was thinking the observation lounge, with Will officiating, before the _Enterprise_ leaves drydock. Not Marie's ideal setting."

"But everyone could be there. Marie could have a reception here at the house, though. That will be in the next four weeks, then?"

Jean-Luc sighed again, and gave her a look. "When did you go talk to them? Yesterday? I thought it was suspicious that Marie came back with shopping bags and you didn't."

Deanna nodded. "I had to help them plan your birthday party. Act surprised."

"So, a birthday party -- also a wedding reception, and a farewell party? Efficient."

"Is that an order?"

He smirked at that. "I think that I am done giving you orders. I intend to let you do whatever you wish with me."

That led to the radiant smile he loved so much, and missed since the conversation started. "That sounds lovely," she murmured, sliding up under his arm, which he obligingly settled over her shoulders.

"It rather does. I'm looking forward to it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not entirely happy with it. It kept wanting to go directions I hadn't planned. I might come back and add another chapter if another character wants to say something. I think part of the issue was trying to make it a series of codas, which are by nature incomplete, so it feels incomplete to me.


	19. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In thinking about the rest of the series and the themes and threads of the story so far, there was one last character who wanted to approach the podium. There have been edits, by the way, to the previous chapter, which was prematurely posted. (I have to find a browser for the iPad that works better with AO3's scripting, the buttons get munged and the edit window reacts strangely when I use the touchscreen.)
> 
> The great Federation, for all its principles, did not seem interested in actively addressing the Borg in a peacemaking manner. They'll make treaties with Romulans, with whom there have been at this point centuries of violence. With the Cardassians, arguably one of the more well rounded, truly devious, and intelligent of the many Trek villains, they make (uneasy) peace and go to incredible lengths to maintain it. They have an agreement with the Sheliak who at a whim will destroy people on a planet just because it's theirs. Janeway is portrayed as feeling the fool for attempting some sort of agreement with the Borg -- her first officer warns her off trying. No one takes the idea of a treaty with the Borg seriously, yet so many other incredibly-different, hostile, alien species are? Inconsistent, un-Trek-like behavior. Even Picard, in First Contact, goes OOC rage-y and wants to nuke their rubber-clad asses into molecules. He knows it's possible to recover people if anyone does, surely. His attitude toward Hugh was different by the end of that episode, and then he again leaves Hugh and Co. go their way peacefully after that episode where Lore sets himself up as King of the Freed Borg. 
> 
> So, no.

Wesley walked up the lane between flowering trees and green, lush rows of grapevines. The Picard family home was where he would find the captain -- the admiral, on weekends. More than a year and he still thought of him as Captain Picard.

He found him in the grassy front yard, in the gazebo where the wedding had taken place -- sitting and drinking wine, of course. He wore a white shirt and plain tan slacks, and seemed completely at ease. Picard stood and greeted him with a warm smile, shaking his hand and clapping his shoulder fondly before pouring him a glass and retaking his seat. Wesley was careful to take a sip first. He'd made the mistake of taking too much before and ended up treating stains on the front of his uniform, when it turned out to be unexpectedly sour and strong. There were several varieties of Picard wine that he found less appealing.

"How is the Academy?"

"Fine," Wes said. The wine was a little sweet, a little fruity, a little smoky -- he was learning how to think about wine, from his visits. He thought it was good, took a larger sip. Picard, smirking, gestured at the bottle.

"This is a fine Zinfandel, isn't it? We just bottled the first batch -- Robert is spoiling Dee, making her wine, naming it after her."

"It's really good. I know I haven't been around for a while -- but I got through finals, finally, with good grades."

"Flying colors on the engineering coursework, I'd bet. Are you still fighting through self defense and history?"

"Yeah. I got creamed, by this Klingon cadet," he confessed. "She pitched me through a wall. I made her mad because I wasn't 'fighting hard enough' so she called me a useless p'taq and sent me through into the middle of a velocity game in the holodeck next door."

"Either they're making holodeck walls with shoddy materials, or you're tougher than you think." The arch humor was familiar, and welcome. "So you have another year? Have you narrowed down what you'd like to do yet?"

Wes looked around, at the house and the ivy covering the bricks, the roses blooming in the front yard, the daffodils, the other flowers that sprinkled colors of the rainbow around the yard. A muktok was struggling valiantly in one corner to blossom where Terran plants ran riot.

"Wes?"

"I guess not," he said distantly, looking down into his glass.

"They're going to start pushing you. You'll be done with most of the general coursework shortly, it will be time to specialize."

"I know. I think that's part of the problem. I went to see that counselor, at last. I didn't get very far in deciding anything. She thinks I'm wavering because I'm burning out."

"Wes," Picard said, calling for his attention. Wes looked at his face, and saw concern, awareness, and a hint of a sad smile. "If you want to do something other than Starfleet, if your heart is leading you on a different path, do yourself a favor and take it. Do the Federation a favor -- use your talents in a manner to which they are best suited."

"But I thought that was what I was doing," he exclaimed. "I thought -- you and Mom are so excited by me being in Starfleet. You've done nothing but encourage me."

"You shouldn't mistake encouragement for our investment in a specific path. I believed you were excited, Wes. I think you're going to be a great asset to the Federation, but only if you're following your own dreams -- this isn't about what you're doing, it's about doing what you are meant to do, and you are the only one who knows that. There are many civilian facilities doing excellent research and important work for the Federation, and Starfleet is but one of the recipients of the benefit of such work."

Wes grinned at that. Shrugged a little, and looked down in his glass again. "Okay."

Picard raised his own glass and finished what little wine was left in it, set the glass on the table with a metallic clink, then settled back in the chair in a manner Wes had never seen him use until after he'd left the ship and taken the bars. "Don't make my mistakes, Mr. Crusher."

"Sir?"

"Keep your eyes open and keep your counseling appointments. If you have opportunities to develop insight into yourself, take them. Learn from failures and mistakes as much as you possibly can. And don't assume that anyone is exactly what they appear to be. Or that they will do as they tell you."

Wes looked at him again, uncertain of what to make of this. Picard had given him tips on getting through the Academy, encouraged, even coached him through some of the courses, though he'd handed him over to Deanna for some things and advised him to get Captain Riker on subspace for others. Delegating, even though he wasn't their commanding officer any more. It was funny how they all went along with everything he said, to this day.

"What is it, Wes?"

"I've heard you say things sometimes that sound like you're questioning your own judgment. It's kind of weird, how they'll tell you in class about how a captain has to be a certain way, do things with confidence and be an example for the crew, and I've never seen you do -- well, I can't say never. Most of the time you get feedback from your crew. But sometimes you just gave orders, and after a few of those I guessed that you must have gotten similar orders, without a lot of information, because you would be angry and terse about giving the order."

A bark of laughter from him -- that was different. Wes had noticed that his demeanor had changed, since coming to Earth. The captain -- the admiral, that is -- had always been difficult for Wes to figure out, but now there was an openness to him that hadn't been there before. Wes found himself relaxing around him now. It was marriage, Captain Riker claimed with his cheesy grin, that softened the 'old man.' But Wes didn't think so. Sure, he was different when Deanna was around -- but it wasn't that kind of change.

"Everything you get from the Academy instructors is by rote. Think of it as an outline, for the larger classroom that is life."

Wes tried to connect that statement to what he'd said. "You mean they aren't giving us the whole picture."

"Orders can be wrong, Wes. The people who ordered Captain Riker to hand me over to them after I was assimilated wanted to treat me like a research project instead of a person, because they believed what happened to me negated my personhood. They understood that my crew had a bias that would interfere with their agenda, so they couched their request as if it were in my best interests. Except they were speaking to experienced officers who understood what they were really doing, from the nuances of what was said to them. To properly interpret orders one must have a firm grounding in reality. Everything is a balance -- Starfleet's interests versus self-preservation, or following your own ethic, or doing the right thing. When is a situation dire enough to require the sacrifice of a ship with all hands aboard? When does retreat become an option? How do you decide to risk the Federation's safety, or your own career, your freedom, to save a single man?"

Wes stared at him, and Picard looked back without looking away. It was clear from the intensity of his gaze that he intended Wes to understand some point he had, and he felt it was very important. So it probably was.

"You think they shouldn't have rescued you from the Borg?" he asked with some disbelief.

"At the time you were likely focused on your own station, doing your duty, following orders, and so it likely didn't happen that you questioned what was going on with the larger scope of things. There was a nearly-unstoppable vessel approaching the heart of the Federation with stated intent to destroy civilization on Earth, likely move on to other worlds, and the _Enterprise_ was all that stood in the way. What is the priority?"

Wes had worked through this exact scenario in one of his classes. He'd had the benefit of being on the bridge when it happened, so his classmates had all ceded to his opinions as being somehow more valid, but he felt otherwise. He'd been in awe of Riker, Shelby, the strategies tossed around in briefings, the clash of two strong-willed officers who had different ideas -- but Shelby had ceded to Riker, and they had won the battle. Wes considered the question through the lens of what he'd taken away from class, because he knew the admiral didn't want him to focus on what happened.

"The priority is protecting the Federation. The options would be stalling them, until help arrived, or destroying them by any means at our disposal. The only thing we could rely on to do that quickly would have been ramming the cube with the ship. But -- "

"But that didn't happen. Yes. The determination to come up with another way that suits your sentimentalities and loyalties is always there, and the decision to override that seems straightfoward enough in class. On the bridge in that center chair it becomes rather more complicated than that."

"Captain Riker told me that making options where there doesn't appear to be one can be challenging, but possible. I went through some of the logs from that confrontation and I even talked to Com -- Captain Shelby. I wanted to understand the strategy and the decisions they made, and why. I tried to write a paper about it." This was a great opportunity -- he hadn't wanted to bring up the event, in case it would offend the admiral and shut down the conversation. But he didn't seem upset talking about it.

"What do you think Riker should have done?"

Wes paused, mouth hanging open. "I don't know. I really don't -- it was so hard, thinking straight, when we were in the middle of it all. I -- "

The memories intruded, as they had when he'd done the paper. He had cried -- in the lift by himself, in the head just off the bridge, moments stolen when he could actually let himself have the feelings. He'd believed Captain Picard was gone forever, and he'd cried and felt hopeless and alone, because all the people he relied on for emotional support were caught up in their duties, trying to address the dire situation they were in. He'd gone to sickbay for an analgesic to deal with a headache from not eating or drinking for an extended period, and his mother had been brusque -- he knew better than to take it personally, he was an adult now for most intents and purposes, and the ship was in peril. There was no time for anything but duty.

He tried to think about the events in a broader framework, remembering the logs -- the diagram he had made, trying to conceptualize the paper that had earned him a moderately high score. Passing, but not excellent. But all he could think about now was the people. He didn't remember much about Deanna; she'd been on the bridge but with nothing to offer most of the time, and then not, and later when he had gone down to sickbay again he'd seen her waiting off to one side, while his mom was working on the captain, and given her a hug. She'd been nearly as lifeless as the captain was, pale, not bothering to hide her tears, not pretending to be somewhere else doing some sort of work -- being caught up in the captain's welfare. 

And then he had been helping Geordi and Data with other things. Analyzing the nanoprobes, for one. He'd helped them develop the technique that had been used on the Borg for the first few months -- a way of disrupting the subspace link with the Collective, disabling drones and making it possible to actually recover individuals. There were many who didn't survive, but there were a growing number of Federation citizens returning from the Collective with every cube that attempted to invade Federation space, including some of Guinan's people. 

That was, he knew, because of successfully getting Captain Picard back and ridding him of the Borg influence. His mom and Captain Riker, and Mr. Data, and the others, had all talked about it at the last poker game they'd had together before the _Enterprise_  went back out on the ten year mission with Riker in command and Worf as the first officer -- how that watershed event had radically altered how Starfleet planned to address the Borg problem. They had assumed assimilation meant each person was turned forever into the enemy, not to be trusted again. That the nanoprobes erased the person. Captain Picard walking into Command and talking to admirals once again with full awareness and no hint of Borg tech anywhere in his body had done as Deanna had insisted it would, and now the focus had moved from destruction of the Borg to chipping away at their numbers and disabling cubes if possible. A few had to be destroyed at great cost but three were disabled. Those recovered were at a facility just a few miles away from the Picard family home, where Deanna and a staff of twenty other counselors provided intensive treatment, for those recovered as well as for traumatized Starfleet personnel in general. 

"Have you talked to anyone about that incident, Wes?" 

Wes brought his eyes up from the thousand-yard stare he'd been doing, and tried to smile. "I guess I should. I didn't think it bothered me that much. But I guess work and class and homework distracted me?"

"Don't let decades go by -- talk to someone about it." The admiral smiled, with that look that said regret was on his mind. "I would have been a much better person for it, if I had done so sooner."

The urge to contradict, defend him against himself, rose. Wes laughed at it nervously, just for a few seconds. "Okay. So what do you think he should have done?"

"He did his job. He pulled it off. I can't say that I am not grateful that he gave me a chance at living the rest of my life. But looking at it from the perspective of Starfleet's best interests? He should have disabled or destroyed the cube, and left my fate to itself. Intelligence-gathering was secondary to protecting Earth. That things turned out as they have was an incredible stroke of luck, like many similar incidents that captains have experienced where things turned out much better than could have been anticipated -- as James Kirk was purported to have said, fortune favors the bold, and starships named _Enterprise_."

Wes shrugged, and then turned toward a crunch of gravel -- he saw that behind him on the lane, Deanna was approaching them. She wore a uniform and had her hair up, and smiled happily as she touched Wes' shoulder in greeting, then moved to the other side of the table and sat in the empty chair on her husband's right. She leaned to kiss him lightly in greeting. 

"Good afternoon, Commander," he said. "The ensign and I are discussing serious matters of great importance."

"And what matters would that be? Whether or not to drink more wine?"

A laugh, at that, and he settled back with his head propped on his fist, elbow against the arm of the chair he slouched in. "We're discussing the Borg attack on Earth, after which you kidnaped me and hid me, and made me impersonate my cousin."

Wes grinned -- the story had been told and retold. "I had to write a paper, I wrote about the battle. How are you, Commander?"

"Doing very well, thank you. How are you?"

"I passed finals. But I'm trying to figure out what to do next. I can't decide on a major. And now I'm wondering if I want to be in Starfleet at all."

That sobered her, and she glanced at the admiral and back. "I see. What else have you considered?"

"I haven't thought much about it yet."

"I think you might consider all the usual things, research or project development, but also you might think about business. Like being a commercial ship captain."

He wasn't the only one to gape at her -- the admiral gave it two eyebrows up. "Really?"

Deanna gave him a cool look. "Really. It was my alternative to the Academy. The deciding factor was realizing that I didn't want to work for my mother. I was considering taking over one of her trade vessels, after going to the university to the program designed to train ship personnel for Betazed's fleet."

"I guess I didn't really think about that at all." Starfleet was, after all, Earth's equivalent -- but other worlds, even some colonies, frequently had their own small fleets of space vessels. Reaching warp capability was, after all, the main criteria for joining the Federation. "Thanks."

"So how is Sasha?"

Wes felt his face screwing up in dismay, and the admiral gave him a sympathetic look. "She's gone."

"I'm sorry, Wes." 

"But you didn't think she was going to last very long," he said, shrugging. "I could tell from the way you reacted to her, when I brought her that time, when I introduced her to you."

Deanna shook her head slowly. "Wes...."

"You're right about people," Wes insisted. "You are -- Captain Picard always trusted that you were."

"I didn't -- "

"No, I know you didn't _rely_  on her sense of things, I'm saying that you trusted her."

"Wes," Deanna exclaimed, leaning forward a little, but she hesitated and relaxed again before she continued. "How do you know it wasn't just me suffering from indigestion, or reacting to someone else? You shouldn't base assumptions on how I look."

"I didn't. You didn't talk to her very much -- you always ask questions and smile and get to know people, unless it's some work related thing. You were that way with Captain Riker's fiancée and everyone at Mom's birthday party. But you didn't do that with Sasha, you went and talked to Mom and spent time with Robert and Marie, and the admiral."

She pursed her lips and tilted her head, as if considering how to respond to some delicate situation without offending. "I avoided her because the minute she looked me in the eye, she became frightened. Not nervous, actually afraid of me. Some people -- though it's certainly rare -- react that way to Betazoids. I didn't want to force my presence on her and tried to give her time to see that I wouldn't be intrusive. I'm surprised she didn't say something about it to you, or that you didn't notice how anxious she was."

"Oh. She said she was just nervous about meeting Admiral Picard, and that she gets nervous around large groups of people she doesn't know. I guess -- " He shook his head at himself.

"You can't assume things like that," the admiral said. "I hope you didn't make a choice based on that assumption?"

"No, she left me -- she freaked out about something stupid. It's not that big of a deal, I knew it wasn't anything serious."

"So you didn't think she was going to last very long."

He grinned. "Yeah. I guess so. Jenn said as much."

"Jenn?"

"Jennifer McCartney. She's one of my best friends in the dorms, and we have a few classes together. But she's planning to be in operations. I've been more focused on engineering."

Deanna shared a charged look with the admiral, and her smile turned sly. "Really. So why haven't we met Jenn?"

Wes rolled his eyes. "Okay, now you're being like Mom. She's just a friend."

"So she was a classmate, a dorm mate, and now she's just a friend. Sounds like a familiar progression," the admiral said.

"I don't feel that way about her," Wes exclaimed, waving his hands.

Both of them raised their left eyebrow. 

"I don't believe this," he grumbled. Why didn't anyone believe him about this?

"Are we out of wine? I believe I would like some," Deanna said. The admiral jumped on that at once.

"There are more bottles in the wine room -- this is a new one, have a look," he said, plucking the bottle off the table and passing it to her.

Deanna sighed, and looked happy, in that way she usually did when picking up Robert and Marie's infant daughter. "Oh, no."

"You don't approve? I thought it was rather clever."

"No one is going to understand the reference -- Bane of the Betazoid?"

"Perhaps you shouldn't have gotten so drunk you fell into a stupor on the parlor sofa and snored through half of Marie's baby shower, if you wanted anyone to believe that. The female population of LaBarre were there."

Deanna groaned, took the bottle, and stalked off to the right of the house, clearly on a mission to find Robert and give him hell. 

"Mom thinks you should have a baby," Wes said, because turnabout was fair play.

"She can think that. If she feels so strongly about it perhaps she should have one of her own."

Somewhere along the way, he'd stopped being so easy to tease. Wes met his gaze across the table and remembered several occasions where he had actually seen Captain Picard embarrassed. Today he kept smiling -- not unlike Counselor Troi's even, serene demeanor when she was in her office, encouraging Wes to talk about his memories of his father, as she had for a while after he and his mother had come aboard. He felt a sudden affection, not just the admiration he'd had for a while, and certainly not the awe he'd had when he was a kid just meeting Captain Picard for the first time.

"Thanks," he said, losing the bravado to say anything more.

"For?"

Wes searched for a minute for some rational response to that. "Everything -- for not pushing me away, when you weren't comfortable with kids, or dismissing me when I kept rambling instead of getting to the point. For telling me to shut up sometimes when I needed to. For telling me about my dad. For letting me get to know you, and letting me come ask you for help, or advice when I know you don't like giving -- "

"Shut up, Wesley," he said fondly, with a grin.

Wes grinned right back. "Okay."

"Are you going to return shortly, or can you stay for dinner? Data is arriving in about an hour, from Stanford, and Geordi is beaming down from McKinley Station, and I spoke with your mother this morning -- we're going to attempt a few hands of poker."

"I can stay." Wes knew there was a mountain of homework sitting on his desk in the dorm, and there was a party planned -- several of his friends were throwing it. But just thinking about not being at the Academy made him feel a great relief, and so the homework wasn't going to matter. And his friends would still be his friends tomorrow, only hung over or sleeping it off. He hadn't seen Data in three months, and Geordi had been furiously at work with the corps of engineers designing new ships to battle the Borg, as well as any other challenge that came at them out there where the unexpected was status quo. There would be time for study and work later.

There really was nothing like family.


End file.
